


History Keeps Pulling

by ScotlandEvander



Series: Rewritten in Time [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Timelines, Best Friends, Drama, Gen, Humor, Male Friendship, Male-Female Friendship, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-08
Updated: 2013-07-25
Packaged: 2017-12-17 22:21:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 89,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/872601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScotlandEvander/pseuds/ScotlandEvander
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco traveled back in time to change the past. Easy-peasy. Nope. It was dumb to think Harry Potter’s life would be simple and being on his side meant Draco’s life wouldn’t be constantly in danger. No, there’s mysteriously vanishing diaries, people turning to stone and an airhead Defense professor. Altering the past is hard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beyond Crazy

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This is the second story in the Rewritten in Time series. In book one, Draco traveled back in time to his eleven-year-old self while retaining his memories from the seventeen years he’d been alive already. He re-did his first year at Hogwarts as Harry Potter’s best friends. I highly suggest you read Regrets Collect Like Old Friends before reading this. Oh, and this story contains OCs.

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or its characters. It’s tragic, but true. If you know it, it’s out of _Chamber of Secrets_.**

* * *

Harry Potter was bored. His ceiling could only entertain him for so long. It was white, blank and dull and he had been staring at it for over twelve hours. 

And it was all a House Elf’s fault. Oh, how he despised Dobby. 

Harry had not been looking forward to the two weeks he would be staying with the Dursleys, his Muggle relatives. They were horrible. Their main goal in life was to be normal. Their definition of normal was very narrow and did not allow for someone like Harry Potter, a wizard. 

Harry snickered thinking what the Dursleys would say if they even accepted him as a normal wizard and later found out he was anything except normal even in the wizarding world. Draco Malfoy, his best friend and distant cousin, referred to him as the Insane One (or various similar nicknames) on a regular basis. 

Harry sighed. He missed his friends. He never had friends till he’d found out about the wizarding world. Hours after entering this strange, new world he had met Draco and formed an instant friendship. His next closest friend was a Muggleborn girl who he never honestly thought he’d be friends with. She was very bookish. Then again, Draco turned out to be a little more bookish than Harry originally thought.

Oh, who was he kidding. He missed them both. Granted, he’s spent the past two weeks mad at them for not writing when they said they would, but they _had_ been writing. Lots judging by the large pile of letters Dobby had been STEALING from Harry. If Harry’s uncle had not locked up his snow white owl, Hedwig, he would not be in this mess. But, because Hedwig was condemned to her cage (grumpily) the House Elf had stolen all the letters before they reached Harry. 

“Dobby,” Harry groused into the darkness. 

Dobby had this crazy idea Harry would be safer if he did not go to Hogwarts this fall and remained with the Durlseys. Clearly, Dobby was had a few screws loose. Dobby had seen the bedroom Harry lived in with its multiple locks on the door, cat flap and barred window. Still, this did not deter the Elf from wreaking havoc when Harry refused to not go to Hogwarts in the fall or visit the Malfoys at the end of his two week sentence with the Durlseys. 

Harry did not understand the two week limit, but Aunt Narcissa said something about him having to go home for two weeks, even if he did not want to. She had been so sure, Harry did not question her. 

The fact it was the Malfoy’s House Elf plotting against him confused him to end. 

Harry held up the notice he’d gotten from the Ministry of Magic after Dobby had levitated the elaborate pudding his Aunt Petunia had made for the guests that evening. The Dursleys had entertained some big wigs from Uncle Verne’s firm. His uncle had hoped to score a big drill contract and buy a summer home. 

Not going to happen now that Dobby had levitated the pudding right over to one of the guests and allowed it to go SPLAT on her head. Dobby vanished with a loud crack, leaving Harry looking guilty. His uncle explained that Harry was deranged. Harry was sure this would have gone over nicely if the owl from the Ministry of Magic hadn’t chosen that moment to show up and freak the pudding hat wearing woman out. She left the house screaming. 

This lead to Harry staring at his ceiling and clutching the warning letter from the Ministry of Magic for performing underaged magic in a Muggle residence while staring blankly at his ceiling for twelve hours.  

Life was so unfair.

Suddenly, Harry’s door banged open. Harry shot up into a seated position, his eyes going wide at seeing who was standing in his doorway.

“Why is there a flap in your door, Mr. Potter?” Mr. Malfoy drawled, his snake headed cane poking the cat flat. 

Harry must be seeing things. Lucius Malfoy was standing standing in the doorway to Harry’s bedroom in Privet Drive. 

“So they can feed me,” Harry replied honestly, a little scared. 

Harry had the distinct feeling Mr. Malfoy hated him. When the Malfoys had appeared to pick up Draco, Mr. Malfoy didn’t even seem to _like_ Draco, judging by the sneer he used to greet his only son. Draco did not seem to notice. Draco only had eyes for his mother, who was happy to see him. And Harry. 

“The Savior of the wizarding world is fed through a cat flap?” Mr. Malfoy asked, his lip curling. 

Harry nodded, gulping. 

Mr. Malfoy blinked a few times. 

“That cannot be,” was all he said, turning on his heel. Harry listened to the man’s boots click down the stairs. “Are you coming, Potter?”

Harry scrambled to his feet, glancing around the room for a moment. Were his two weeks up already? Was he actually leaving? 

There wasn’t anything in his room other than Hedwig, so he grabbed the cage and hurried out of his room. He found Mr. Malfoy standing at the bottom of the stairs, rapping his cane in his hand and tapping his foot. Harry came to an ungraceful halt at the bottom of the stairs. 

“Where are your things?”

“Under the stairs, locked in the cupboard.”

A single blonde eye brow rose. Mr. Malfoy brushed passed Harry heading to the indicated cupboard. Harry glanced into the lounge to find the three Dursleys all seated on the couch, eyes bulging and faces chalk white. Mr. Malfoy clearly frightened them. Harry found he couldn’t feel sorry for them. 

Mr. Malfoy was kind of scary. 

The cupboard banged open and with a wave of Mr. Malfoy’s wand, Harry’s belongings shrunk down and were placed into a pocket in Mr Malfoy’s cloak. 

“Come along. My wife sent me to get you in a timely manner,” Mr. Malfoy drawled sounding bored. “Oh, and I got the Ministry to erase the charge of underage magic, as it was due to our batty Elf.”

His lip curled again. Harry nodded and thanked him. Mr. Malfoy strode out of the house. Harry stared at his relatives, waved and hurried after Mr. Malfoy. Once they were standing outside, Mr. Malfoy strode down the street, paying no heed to the fact Harry and his short legs had to run to keep up with him. Once they reached the park near the Dursley’s home, Mr. Malfoy gripped Harry’s arm, spun on the spot and Harry felt like he was sucked into a small tube and squeezed out the other end. 

“Welcome to Malfoy Manor, Potter.” 


	2. The New Gentry

**Disclaimer: If you know it, I do not own it.**

* * *

The brightly lit room was filled with cream and light blue furniture. The sunlight poured in through the tall windows, causing the elegance of the room to dance around, magic filling the area. Narcissa Malfoy smirked, her blue-grey eyes taking in the casual decadence the Blacks had chosen to decorate their brand new London townhouse. Altair Black had chosen to reside in a Muggle neighborhood known as Belgravia… among the Muggles. While Narcissa had internally sneered at this idea, she understood his desire to live in Belgravia.  

Altair Black was American. While he might detest Muggles with every fiber of his being as she did, American wizards were all about blending into their surroundings seamlessly. American wizarding fashions were more influenced by Muggle fashions. American wizarding customs were shapped by Muggles. 

Basically, the Americans were a bunch of Muggle loving fools, hence why most of British wizarding society scorned American wizards. 

There were a few pureblood families in America who held the proper manner of thought. The Blacks happened to be one, thankfully. 

“Know thy enemy, Narcissa. Isn’t that the Slytherin way?” Altair had asked as they stood in a townhouse on a fashionable Muggle street. “The wealthy and powerful reside here. Muggle and wizard.”

Narcissa had gasped when Altair informed her there were powerful wizards living in the Muggle neighborhood. She masked her surprise quickly, following after Altair as he surveyed the property. She had discovered there were several families living in the Belgravia area: the Notts, the Flints, the Fudges, the Crouches, the Smiths, and the Macmillans. She’d been to their homes, but failed to realize these huge homes were within Muggle London. 

“The Blacks had the right idea when they settled on Grimmauld Place, only they did not move when the Muggles went on to greener pastures,” Altair had concluded that afternoon, singing on the line for his new townhouse in the heart of Muggle London. 

Narcissa had aided Altair in decorating his new home in the following weeks. His wife, the renowned Potions Mistress Circe Hilderbatch, could not be bothered with the endeavor. Narcissa worried Altair would suffer in pureblood society with the lack of interest his wife was showing in Altair’s lasted bid to enter into British wizarding high society. So far, Circe Hilderbatch had yet to make an appearance at any function during the summer season. 

Narcissa turned away from the tall window and lowered herself onto a cream couch to await Altair, who was still at the Ministry. He had taken up a post in the Department of International Magic. Narcissa figured she would wait for Altair to return after dropping the boys off. Upstairs, she could hear the noise of the children playing. Atlanta Black was singing loudly over the noise of her own son and Harry Potter.

Harry Potter was an amazement to behold. Last July she had met a quiet, timid, painfully polite boy who was desperate to belong. When she’d seen him at Christmas, four months at Hogwarts had loosed the child up a bit to the point he freely spoke with her and smiled, those glittering green gem eyes of his enchanting. 

The boy was going to be a heart breaker.

After the events of the boy’s first year, the timid Harry Potter was a forgotten memory to the child. There was a new found confidence. 

It was breathtaking. 

Even his horrid relatives had not broken him. She was appalled when she had heard of how those Muggles treated the child. She had instantly written to Dumbledore to inform him of Harry’s treatment. He had written back he had been unaware at the dismal treatment and would speak to the Dursleys.

Narcissa was sure Lucius had struck fear into the Muggle’s hearts, hence why she had sent him in the first place. She would have gone herself, but knew Lucius would assure better treatment of Harry in the future by simply being himself. 

“I AM THE HERO OF THIS STORY!” Atlanta shouted over the noise of the two boys. “I’ll save everyone!” 

There was a loud crash. Narcissa stood up to go see what the three were getting into when the fireplace flamed to life with green flames. Narcissa paused, wondering who was showing up via the Floo. Out of the emerald flames came the tall, slim form of Circe Hilderbatch. She dusted herself off, taking no notice of the fact Narcissa was standing in front of her. 

“Good afternoon, Circe,” Narcissa greeted once the older woman was finishing dusting the soot off her robes. 

Circe Hilderbatch was dressed in simple, yet elegant light blue robes that accented her deep blue eyes and set her blonde hair alight. They were cut in the American manner, so they hugged her figure, accenting her waist. Narcissa always mused that she and Circe looked more like sisters than Narcissa and her actual sisters. However, Narcissa did have Black features, while Circe was every inch a Hilderbatch. Her nose was long, sharp and her chin was long and rounded. She had elegant lines to her face, even if several features were larger than normal. Her height and poise more made up for it. 

It was a wonder Atlanta had not inherited any of these traits. The other two children, Cassiopeia and Sirius (who went by Dre for some reason), both had Hilderbatch traits evident in their faces. 

“Narcissa. What a pleasant surprise,” Circe replied in her clear upper crust New England accent. It was evident by her tone it wasn’t pleasant or a surprise. 

There was another crash from upstairs. 

“I told you! I’m the hero! I get to fall to my death after taking the bad guy out!” Atlanta shouted.

“But, I’m Harry Potter!” Harry exclaimed, laughing. 

There was a long silence following this announcement.

“Seriously. I’m Harry Potter,” Harry said. “I should be allowed to use it to my benefit occasionally.”

Narcissa smirked, turning her attention to Circe, whose large, sapphire eyes were staring at the doorway that lead into the main hallway. Circe swept into the hallway and headed up the stairs. Narcissa followed. It was clear the older woman had never set foot in her family’s new home, as when she reached the first floor, it was obvious she wasn’t sure which door lead to where the children were located. It wasn’t until there was yet another crash from Atlanta’s bedroom, Circe threw the door open and walked into the child’s bedroom. 

“Atlanta Siria Black, what is the meaning of this?” Circe demanded, looking at the mess the three had managed to make. 

Narcissa came to stand behind the taller woman and hid a smile. Harry and Draco were standing near the doors that lead outside to the balcony that overlooked the street. The boys were holding wooden swords and Harry had an ancient looking helmet on his head, cocked to the side. It looked like it was going to tumble off at any moment. Atlanta was on top of her wardrobe, holding a doll by the neck over the edge. Harry looked horrified to be caught, while Draco looked sheepish. 

It almost appeared as if Draco felt he was to old to play as they were playing. Narcissa felt the boy thought he had to behave like a mini-adult at all times. She was happy to see him acting more his own age for once. 

“Hello, Mother,” Atlanta greeted, moving her own helmet back so she could see better. “We were just, uh, playing.”

“I noticed. Did a hurricane blow through here?” Circe asked, her eyes scanning the damage the three had caused. 

The desk was over turned, as well as the chair. The other loud crash must have been when someone had knocked over the bedside table, which lay with its legs in the air. The wardrobe Atlanta was standing on top of looked as if it’d been blown up from the inside out, sending robes and other clothing all over the room. There were several pairs of tights and a robe hanging from the light fixture in the center of the room. 

“Yes. Hurricane Harry,” Atlanta cheekily replied.

Harry turned bright red and pulled his crooked helmet straight and down over his eyes. 

“Atlanta Siria, it’s not nice to blame your guests for the mess I know you very well made,” Circe admonished. “This looks like a Hurricane Atlanta if anything.” 

Atlanta frowned, dropping the doll to her side. “Yes, Mother. Hurricane Atlanta did this. But Draco and Harry did help a bit.”

Circe opened her mouth as there was a loud pop from downstair and Altair called out, “I’m home! Where is everyone?”

Circe closed her eyes, turning away from the children. She wore a rather pain filled face for a moment before her pureblood mask appeared. 

“Up stairs. Your daughter had a hurricane,” Circe replied. 

Altair appeared at the top of the stairs, his formal black robe over his arm. He frowned, raking a hand through his salt and pepper hair. He draped the robe over the railing before moving towards Atlanta’s room. 

“Hurricane? Do they get those in England?” he inquired. “Oh, Narcissa! Lovely to see you! I figured you would drop the boys and head home.”

“I figured I’d stay till you arrived. I have an invitation for you to the Goyle’s this weekend,” Narcissa explained. “It is downstairs in the drawing room.”

“Why, thank you for hand delivering it,” Altair said, giving Narcissa a smile that made Circe scoff quietly under her breath. Altair moved passed the woman, his eyes glued to his youngest daughter, who was still standing on top of the wardrobe. “Atlanta, what on earth happened?”

“We vanished the Dark Lord,” Atlanta announced. “Or, well, we tried. He’s still here.”

Atlanta didn’t bother to notice the color draining from three faces in the room as she held up the doll she’d gripped around the neck. 

“I was going to drop him off the tower and jump to my death as well. I’m the hero and I am going to save the day,” she announced, grinning crookedly. The grin fell when she noticed the looks on the three adults in the room. “What?”

“Nothing, Princess,” Altair said. “Get down off there.”

Altair held out his arms to the girl. She sat down and pushed herself off the top of the wardrobe into her father’s outstretched arms. Even though Atlanta was eleven and tall for her age, Altair held the girl easily on his hip. Narcissa felt something in heart constrict at witnessing the affection Altair had for his youngest daughter. 

You’d never catch Lucius behaving in that manner towards his own son. Or anyone.

“Sookie!”

There was a loud crack and a House Elf appeared. 

“Please put this room in order,” Altair ordered the Elf. “Boys, I believe if you head down to the drawing room we will find a wonderful spread for that wonderful British thing called afternoon tea.”

“Thank you, Mr. Black,” Harry said rather stiffly, still rather red. He pulled off the helmet and set it on the bed, placing his sword next to it. He attempted to flatten his out of control hair, failing miserably. Draco swatted Harry’s hands away from his hair and  put his sword on the bed next to Harry’s. 

“Think nothing of it,” Altair said. “Now, Harry, I’ve been eager to speak with you since you’ve come to stay with the Malfoy’s this summer.”

Harry’s face grew guarded and darker for a moment. He flattened his fringe over his scar and took a step closer to Draco, who towered over Harry after his growth spurt over the past school year. 

“I hear last year at school you had a rather large adventure,” Altair went on, still holding his daughter, who had wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her head on his shoulder. Using one arm to hold his daughter, he reached for Harry with the other. Clamping Harry on the shoulder, he steered the boy away from Draco and out of the room. 

Circe frowned deeply, glared at Narcissa, stomped out of the room and through the other door across the hallway. The moment the woman was gone, Narcissa let out a breath.

“Mother?”

Narcissa startled, having forgotten her own son was still in the room with her. 

“Draco?”

“What’s wrong? Are Harry and I in trouble for…”

He looked around the room, which was almost clean. The House Elf was a blur moving around the room. 

“No, darling. Let’s go downstairs and have tea. I’m sure Altair would love to hear your part in your…adventure.”

Draco gave her a rather uncharacteristic grimace and joined her in the doorway. He studied her for a moment.

“You took our so called adventure better than I feared you would,” Draco said, bringing it up for the first time. 

Narcissa had almost lost it when she’d gotten word from the Headmaster her son had been in an accident. Rushing to the school she had found her baby’s head wrapped up and Harry’s hand encased in miles of bandages. The boys had relayed what they’d done and why they had done it. She had honestly figured— since they were school boys—  they would lie to her, but they did not. 

She could not believe the three children had taken on the Dark Lord. Even if he was…a spirit of sorts.  

It scared her. 

She wanted to protect the pair, wanted to whisk them away from the school, lock them in her home and never let them out of her sight. 

As she fussed over the pair, she realized this was not the correct manner to deal with circumstances. The event proved the Dark Lord was not dead. He was trying to regain a body, he was a spirit (or something) and he would return to the living world. If there was one thing Narcissa remembered about the Dark Lord (besides the fact he was insane) it was he was determined and always got what he wanted at the end of the day. 

The Dark Lord wanted to kill Harry Potter. Harry Potter had thwarted his rise to power and caused him to be in the less than alive form he currently had. In order to be able to protect himself, Harry would need life experience. He would be forced to grow up faster than usual. 

He had to be ready. 

For the first time in her life, Narcissa agreed with Dumbledore. Without actually speaking of the matter, she knew they were on the same wave length. The best way to allow Harry to have a childhood and be prepared for the future was to let the children grow up, investigate, and live their lives. 

So, she did not smother the boys. No matter how much she wanted to. 

She did not demand Harry come home with her at the end of term. No matter how much she wanted to. 

She waited the two weeks Dumbledore informed her Harry must stay with his relatives in order for his natural protection his mother left him to renew for another year. Narcissa did not need Dumbledore to spell out what he meant.

Lily Potter had died protecting her son, like any mother would have done. She knew that would leave a trace within Harry and Dumbledore, while a little mad and batty, was not stupid. He had enacted blood wards to protect the child. 

She would not interfere with those, no matter how much she wanted to get Harry away from those horrible Muggles. There was no stronger protection for Harry than what was already in his blood. 

“There are things coming, darling. I feel you and Harry both must be ready for them and coddling you would do you no good. No matter how much I would like to fuss and shut you away from the world,” Narcissa admitted to Draco, even though it pained her. 

Draco looked rather surprised.

“Just don’t die at school. Please,” Narcissa lightly said, even though she was dead serious. 

“Trust me, Mother. I will try. But, Harry is rather…insane,” Draco said, sounding solemn. 

Narcissa laughed at him. Harry Potter insane? Highly unlikely. 

“I’m also sure he is cursed to have odd things happen to him. He has the worst luck, yet the best luck to get out of trouble once he’s in it,” Draco explained.  

Shaking her head, Narcissa steered her son downstairs to the drawing room, where Harry was seated across from Altair, who was busy telling Harry all the ins and outs of his Ministry position he had secured. As Narcissa sat down next to Atlanta on the couch, she allowed herself to smirk. 

Her plan was going beautifully. Altair had moved to England, settled in London and was sending Atlanta to Hogwarts in the fall. Hopefully by the time the Dark Lord was able to regain a presence in the wizarding world, the Black Family would be standing on its own and strong. Altair Black would never grovel at the feet of anyone, so she was not worried he’d side with the Dark Lord— should he return. Altair had left the country all together the last time the Dark Lord had made his presence known. It was a safe assumption Altair Black did not agree with the Dark Lord’s methods if faced with them again. 

And judging by the way he was fawning over Harry, Altair would never take the Dark Lord’s side in a war. The wizarding world at large stood behind the Boy-Who-Lived. 


	3. Operation Get Diary

**Disclaimer: If you know it, I fail to own it. Parts taken from _Chamber of Secrets_ , which I did not write. JK Rowling did. **

* * *

Draco shifted nervously, pretending to read a book about the hazards of household charms. Who knew there were at least fifty ways for _Scourgify_ to go wrong? His father would sneer if he caught Draco reading such a domestic book, but Draco had bigger things on his mind than his father’s reaction to a book usually reserved for lesser beings than a Malfoy. 

Today was the day the diary was released from the Malfoy Manor. Draco had never found it in his numerous searches of the manor this summer.

Draco knew it wasn’t a normal diary. It belonged to Voldemort so it was highly unlikely it was filled with entries about his daily life. 

_Dear Diary,_

_Today I decided to become a Dark Lord. To do this I spent three hours perfecting my glare, two hours torturing my minions and an hour pouting on lack of books on how to take over the world._

_Dear Diary,_

_My Death Eaters are stupid. They don’t seem to know how to pick flowers._

_Dear Diary,_

_Today I learned how to transfigure a boy into a ferret. I had a lot of fun. Must teach minions so they can use it in the future._

Draco snorted. No, the diary wasn’t an actual diary. It was a charmed book that opened the Chamber of Secrets…somehow. No one had clued Draco in on the “how” part. The only reason Draco was paying any heed to the diary was because the Dark Lord was madder than an insulted hippogriff on a rampage when he had found out Potter had destroyed this measly book at the ripe age of twelve. Draco had felt the man’s rage through the floor as he tortured his father once he’d found out what Lucius had foolishly allowed the book out into the world without permission. 

Draco’s life was complicated and preposterous. For one reason: Draco Malfoy was a time traveler. He had gone back to when and where he’d wanted, retaining his past knowledge while taking on his eleven-year-old body. The past year had been interesting…to put it mildly. While things had not gone as calmly and smoothly as Draco had hoped, he’d obtained his goal of befriending Harry Potter. 

Harry Potter was Draco’s best friend. While this made Draco pleased and insanely happy, being Harry Potter’s best friend did bring with it certain trouble. For instance, while Harry had good luck to get out of sticky situations, he also had a habit of getting into said sticky situations in the first place. Draco had learned this the hard way the night he came face to face with a three headed dog. 

While Draco had avoided whatever had happened to the Golden Trio at the end of their first year, Draco wasn’t sure if what had happened this time around had been any better. The basic result was the same: rise of Lord Voldemort averted. 

For now. 

The world, thanks to Severus Snape, thought Quirrell was an unfortunate man who had been after the Philosopher’s Stone due to being possessed by an evil spirit. No one knew it was really Voldemort— except for three professors, Narcissa Malfoy, Harry, Hermione and Draco. 

“I think I’m going downstairs,” Harry whispered, popping up at Draco’s elbow. 

“Why?”

“I want to look at some defense books,” Harry replied. “What was the book Mr. Black suggested?”

“ _Against the Dark_ by Liber Styrkond,” Draco replied. 

 Harry grunted, heading off down the stairs. Draco felt this was brave of Harry. At any moment the place was going to be crawling with witches who wanted to get a glimpse of Gilderoy Lockhart, author of pompous books who happened to be nice to look at with his shiny blond hair and blindly white teeth that he never put away.

Mentally, Draco gagged. That bloke was so fake, why didn’t anyone see it? He wore curlers for crying out loud. Curlers! 

Looking back at the book in his hands, Draco flipped the page to find out about how to set ones knife up to chop carrots and not hack your thumb off. As he pretended to read, Draco’s mind drifted back to Mission Obtain Diary. His father had spent all summer bragging about how he was going to ensure Dumbledore got dismissed as Headmaster and the school cleansed of filth. This had happened the first time around, but Draco had figured his father would keep tight lipped this time, as Draco was pretty sure his father hated him. His father had only spoken to Draco directly once this summer and that was to say, “Here.”

This was followed by his father dumping befuddled and scared looking Harry Potter in his bedroom, followed by a shrunken trunk and broom. Harry was still holding his owl’s cage, which contained an irate owl. 

Mission Obtain Diary was born after Harry arrived. Draco had given up trying to find it in the house, so he went with what he told Harry he “assumed” Lucius was going to do: give the diary to an enemy. Who happened to be the Malfoy’s enemy?

The Weasley family. 

The last time, Ginny Weasley had wound up with the diary. Draco knew it was the youngest Weasley because she was the only student to be taken into the Chamber of Secrets and following this, the rumor was she was possessed by an enchanted object. Based on this, Draco came up with a plan to get the diary (the assumed enchanted objected based on Voldemort’s anger at it being destroyed by Potter) from Ginny Weasley the only time Draco could think Lucius Malfoy would come across the Weasley clan. 

Hence, why Draco was standing on the second floor balcony that overlooked the entrance to Flourish and Blotts reading about household charms instead of doing something more fun. Like reading about Quidditch. 

In the past year, Draco had learned that time was predictable if he could remember what happened the first time. The timeline tended to role out very similar to how it had the first time. There were minor changes (or major depending on how one looked at it) caused due to Draco’s friendship with Harry. Due to the fact neither Draco or Harry played a major role in Ginny Weasley getting the diary, it was safe to assume it was going to happen as it had last time around.  

Tragically, Draco didn’t know when or how. He only knew the day he and his father had done his back to school shopping, as it was the only time he remembered seeing the youngest Weasley in the vicinity of his father. Draco clearly remembered the day, as it was the day his father and Mr. Weasley got into a fist fight with one another. More than likely picked by Lucius to cause a distraction to give the diary to the little Weasley girl. 

Harry had asked a few questions on why Draco thought Ginny Weasley would get the evil diary, which Draco had answered by sighting the grudge all Malfoys held against all Weasleys. 

“But you don’t hate the twins,” Harry had said. 

“I’m not my father,” was Draco’s answer. “I plan not to hate Weasleys.”

It had pained him to say it, as while the twins were okay, Draco still had an odd knee-jerk reaction of pure abhorrence when he thought of the Weasleys. 

Draco was jarred from his thoughts as Harry came pelting up the stairs at top speed, not bothering to notice he was knocking over books left and right. Harry darted around the piles of books to Draco, knocking a few over in his haste. 

“Hide me,” Harry hissed, darting behind Draco.

Draco had shot up a good four inches since the start of first year, while Harry remained short. One of the Elves had suggested a growth potion, as the Elf was alarmed by how short Harry currently was compared to Draco. 

Narcissa declined, stating Harry would grow naturally when the time was right. 

Both Narcissa and the House Elves agreed Harry needed to eat more food, as he was still too skinny. Draco had never witnessed so much food prepared in his life until Harry Potter came to stay. The House Elves (especially Dobby) offered Harry food constantly.  

“I think the books you knocked over covered you,” Draco mused, noticing a rather sour looking man with a camera. The fallen books had stopped his progress and he’d lost track of Harry. 

Harry let out a sigh of relief. 

“Why is the freaking paper covering a book signing?”

“Lockhart is a big deal. Those white teeth make a lot of money,” Draco drawled. “Attracts gold by the barrels. Look at this crowd that’s appeared since we’ve been here. The signing hasn’t even really started yet.” 

Harry groaned. Draco looked back at the book, keeping an eye on the door to the store for his father or the Weasleys. Both stood out due to hair color. 

“He spotted me. The blond bloke who is doing the singing. I managed to escape,” Harry confided. “I thought your House Elf was bad.”

Draco snorted. “Dobby is unique.”

“That’s a way to put it,” Harry replied bitterly. 

Dobby hero worshipped Harry and was fearful after finding about Lucius’ plans for the upcoming school year. Things from Draco’s first time through second year came back: the flying car, the Bludger that was in love with Potter and hell bent on trying to kill him. The fact Harry Potter had somehow tricked his father into freeing Dobby. 

Clearly, Dobby was behind all of this and would continue if not stopped. Harry and Draco managed to convince the Elf the Chamber wouldn’t open as they were going to get the diary and prevent Lucius’ plan. 

“Where is your father?” Harry asked. “Actually, where is anyone we came with?”

“Father had business at Borgin and Burke’s,” Draco said. “He’ll be awhile.”

Due to the fact Harry was with them, Narcissa frowned when Lucius said he had to stop by Borgin and Burke’s. She forbid him from taking the boys when he ran that errand. Not that Draco minded. The store was boring. He wasn’t allowed to touch anything. 

Not to mention it brought back some bad memories from sixth year.  

“And be glad we escaped from Altair Black,” Draco muttered. 

“He’s not that bad,” Harry insisted.

“Harry, he’s a pompous ass who wants to drag you around and show you off,” Draco reminded him.  “Because you’re the famous Harry Potter.”

Harry colored, but didn’t respond other than to pat his fringe down over his lighting bolt scar. 

Draco knew at his core, Altair was a lot like Lucius. He worshiped the Dark Arts and believed in pureblood supremacy. Altair, though, was a great manipulator and was an expert at hiding in plain sight. He moved through society seamlessly and no one would ever accuse of Altair Black of being a Dark wizard, no matter his family’s reputation. 

Harry picked up a book on household potions and began flipping through it. Draco went back to looking for bright red or white blond hair. Finally, after what seemed like forever, he spotted a flock of gingers. 

“They’re here,” Draco whispered to Harry, who was still lurking behind Draco’s taller form. 

Harry nodded. 

Operation Get Diary was active.

Replacing their books on the shelves and grabbing their purchases, the pair headed down the stairs, picking their way over the mess Harry had made earlier. Harry made his way through the crowd once the pair reached the main floor. Harry’s job was to get Lockhart’s attention. This aspect of Draco’s plan was not Harry’s favorite as it called bringing attention to himself. Draco’s job was to remain near the Weasleys and use the distraction caused by Harry to search the Weasley’s purchases for the diary. 

“Excuse me. Can I get through, please? Excuse me,” Harry said loudly, trying to work his way to the front. He swept his fringe over, displaying his scar for the world to see. “I need to get to my defense books, please.”

Gilderoy Lockhart’s head snapped up, his dazzling white teeth showing as he heard Harry’s voice. His wavy hair was even be smiling, if that was possible. Draco, moving in the opposite direction from Harry, kept his eyes on the youngest Weasley. She was holding a cauldron full of books and looking rather put out. 

“That can’t be Harry Potter?” Lockhart asked extra loudly. 

It was as if Lockhart had spoken a spell. The crowd around Harry parted, leaving the Boy-Who-Lived standing in the center of the room painfully alone. Harry’s posture spoke of defeat, even though Draco’s plan had worked perfectly. All attention was on Harry. Draco snuck over to Weaselette and managed to go through her books without her noticing.

No diary. She hadn’t run into his father. 

Draco noticed another bag sitting near Mrs. Weasley and pawed through it just in case. 

“It is Harry Potter!” Lockhart bellowed, leaping up and grabbing Harry, tugging him to the table. Draco was sure Lockhart attempted to pull Harry’s arm out of the socket with the force he pulled Harry to his side. “Nice big smile, Harry!”

No diary in any of the bags. 

Mission was a bust. 

Lockhart said something else, but Draco couldn’t hear. The witches all began to titter. Draco heard the camera flash a few times. Lockhart let go of a blinded Harry, who stumbled off to the side as Lockhart made his wonderful announcement: he was going to the DADA teacher. He piled Harry with books and Harry wobbled over to Draco, steering around the clapping and cheering crowd.

“I already bought my bloody books,” Harry announced. “What am I supposed to do with all these?” 

“Weasleys,” Draco whispered in his ear. 

Harry turned around to find the group of redheads standing nearby. Ron Weasley was looking haughty and indifferent, having fully embraced his Slytherin side. The twins were both wearing matching laughing grins, while Prefect Weasley was no where to be seen. Ginny Weasley was looking at Harry with wide, star struck eyes. Her mouth opened to form a perfect “O.” 

“I bet you loved that, Potter,” drawled the Weasel. “Please don’t allow fame to go to your head.” 

Draco almost choked, sure those were the same words he’d sneered at Potter all those years ago. Though, the Weasel didn’t look like he meant them to be mean. He appeared to mean them in a sarcastic manner.  

“I won’t. I hate being famous,” Harry assured. “I wonder if any of you want these. I’ve already bought mine. I don’t fancy two sets.”

“I’ll take them,” one of the twins said.

“Not that we’ll read them.”

“Boys!” Mrs. Weasley chided. She turned to Harry, smiling warmly. “That’s kind of you, dear, but you don’t need to give your books away.”

“I already bought mine,” Harry insisted. “I don’t need these.” 

“Can’t even go to a bookshop without making the front page,” Ron dryly said. He quirked an eyebrow. 

Mrs Weasley didn’t hear this remark. She was making a fuss over Harry, who also didn’t hear the comment because he was still trying to foist the books off to Mrs Weasley. Harry managed to dump the books into her arms. She looked bewildered as Harry hurried to stand near Draco, but took the books and moved forward in the line for Lockhart’s autograph. 

“Looking out for the next article they can write on you? Charity to the less fortunate? You could be the Boy-Who-Done-Good.” 

“Leave him alone,” Weaselette said, glaring at her own brother. 

“I’d rather be that than the Boy-Who-Lived,” Harry grumbled. 

The whole thing was so surreal, Draco laughed. The Weasleys and Harry all stared at him.

“Sorry,” Draco apologized. “I thought it was funny.” 

“Ickly Ronniekins is just jealous of our Harry,” one said. “Or he’s just channeling that friend of his. Being all sarcastic.” 

“It’s a permanent state,” the other joked. “Trying to mimic that pounce.”

“He is not a pounce!” the Weasel shouted, suddenly looking like the old Weasel.

The pair shoved the Weasel and quickly made their way away from the group. Weaselette hoisted her cauldron to hold it on her other side. She looked massively uncomfortable, slowly turning as red as her hair. 

“She’s got a crush on you,” the Weasel announced, eyeing Harry. 

Harry didn’t respond, but turned as red as Weaselette.

“Honestly, Weasley, is your brain really the size of a pea?” Draco asked, shocked the Weasel would embarrass his sister such a manner. “She’s your own sister.”

“I was only warning Potter,” the Weasel said, wearing his pureblood mask of indifference. 

Draco blinked a few times, while Weaselette inched away from her brother. 

“Ron!”

The mask fell and wide eyed, the Weasel turned to find his father towering over him. 

“What are you doing? It’s crowded in here. We’ve bought Ginny’s books. Let’s go outside.”

“Well, well, well,” drawled a familiar voice. 

Both Harry and Draco froze. Lucius Malfoy had arrived. Draco felt his father’s cold hand clamp down on his shoulder, moving Draco to the side so he could stop closer. 

“Arthur Weasley.”

“Lucius,” Mr. Weasley said, nodding coldly. 

“Busy time at the Ministry. All those raids,” Lucius said, his eyes drifting down to Ginny, who was holding her cauldron in front of her. “I hope they are paying you extra.”

Before anyone could answer, Lucius reached into Ginny’s cauldron, extracting a very old, extremely battered book.

“Obviously not,” Lucius sneered. “Dear me, what’s the use of being a disgrace to the name of wizard if they don’t even pay well for it?”

Draco bit back a groan. Harry looked mortified. All three Weasleys flushed deep red at this statement. 

“Though, your son is attempting to bring some respect to your family,” Lucius sneered, eyeing the Weasel, who was indeed wearing his school cloak with its Slytherin badge on display. 

“We have a very different idea what disgraces a wizard, Malfoy,” Mr. Weasley spat. 

“Clearly,” Lucius drawled. 

Due to the fact the Grangers weren’t present, there was no comment to be made about hanging around with Muggles, so Lucius silently dropped the battered book back into the cauldron. Draco tried to see if he’d slipped the diary in, but he couldn’t see anything, nor could he paw through Weaselette’s books with everyone looking. He gave Harry a hopeless look. Harry ground his teeth together, giving Draco the stink eye. Then, heaving a heavy sigh, his eyes went wide and his hand flew to his forehead.

“Ow!” Harry cried, falling over.

“Harry!” Draco shouted, pretending to be alarmed. 

Harry lay perfectly still on the ground, his hand over his scar and his face scrunched up in pretend pain. 

“Ow! Ow! My scar!”

Harry was a terrible actor. 

The whole shop erupted, failing to notice Harry’s lack of acting skills. Draco was pushed outside, along with the Weaselette. He was about to make an excuse to go through her books when someone screamed his name. 

“DRACO!”

Draco turned to see Atlanta skipping in front of her mother, holding her wand out in front of her. Circe Hilderbatch followed a little distance back, clearly paying more attention to what was in the windows of the shops she was passing than to her daughter. Altair Black was trailing behind even further, smiling, nodding, shaking hands and chit chatting left and right. He was in Politician Mode. 

“I got my wand! Phoenix feather and monterillo!” Atlanta announced, skipping up to Draco and Weaselette. 

Atlanta’s eyes landed on Weaselette and a wide smile overtook her face. 

“Hi!” Atlanta greeted loudly. “Are you going to Hogwarts? I’ll be a first year.”

Weaselette’s eyes went large, but she nodded in agreement. 

“Draco, what is going on in there?” Ms. Hilderbatch asked as she reached them. 

“Oh, Harry fainted.”

“What?” Altair shouted. He left the conversation he had been in and hurried into the bookshop. Ms. Hilderbatch narrowed her eyes and followed her husband.  

“You have a bunch of used book!” Atlanta exclaimed, looking into Ginny’s cauldron. Upon noticing Weaselette’s face, Atlanta added, “I liked used books. Wanna trade?”

Atlanta turned around and grabbed her own bag of books (left behind by Ms. Hilderbatch). She opened the bag and showed Weaselette

“I hate new books. Daddy wouldn’t buy me used ones,” Atlanta complained. “Trade? I’m Atlanta, by the way.”

“Ginny,” was the quiet response.

Draco could see the desire to have new things in Weaselette’s eyes. Atlanta offered the bag again. Biting her lip, Weaselette nodded. Atlanta quickly dumped the books from Ginny’s cauldron on the ground before dumping her new books into the cauldron Ginny had. She tossed the book into the bag. 

“Thanks!” Atlanta exclaimed. “I’m totally excited to start at Hogwarts. I’m the first from my family not to go to Dibonein. That’s in America, where I’m from.”

“Cool,” Weaselette said, her eyes shinning. 

Draco had a feeling Weaselette and Atlanta were going to be friends. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. There was no reason to hate the Weasleys.

He repeated this several times. 

“Ginny! There you are!” Mrs. Weasley exclaimed. “Let’s get going. We still have shopping to do.”

“All right, Mum. I’ll see you at school,” Weaselette said to Atlanta, a big smile on her face. 

“You too!” Atlanta agreed, smiling as well. 

The other Weasleys all filed out, along with a few others. Draco and Atlanta hung around till Ms. Hilderbatch ushered Harry out, who was for some odd reason wearing what looked like a white turban. He was wearing a dour expression. Altair followed shortly, discussing with people Harry’s condition and assuring everyone he was just dandy. (His exact words.) Lucius appeared looking as if he’s swallowed a lemon. 

“It was a shooting pain. I’m used to them,” Harry insisted.

“That doesn’t mean it is normal, sport,” Altair said, steering Harry by the shoulder. “We’ll have a Healer look at that scar.” 

Harry glared at Draco, telling him nonverbally he better have the diary. Draco pointed at the bag Atlanta held. Lucius muttered something about going to the Ministry and vanished. Ms. Hilderbatch heaved what looked like Harry’s book purchases onto her shoulder and indicated for Atlanta and Draco to follow. Draco picked up his own bag of books, then grabbed Atlanta’s. She couldn’t carry the bag and her other bags. Draco wasn’t sure why none of the adults shrunk any of their purchases. 

“Can I look through your books later?” Draco hissed at Atlanta as they followed her parents down the street to the Apparation point. 

“Sure. Why? Oh! Is that diary you and Harry been after all summer in there?” Atlanta asked.

“I’m not sure yet,” Draco admitted. “I’ll look when we get back to your house, okay?” 

Atlanta nodded. Still holding her wand in her left hand, Atlanta swished it through the air as she humming softly. Her mother’s cold mask melted for a moment. Ms. Hilderbatch looked down at her daughter fondly.

“‘Can’t Buy Me Love?’” Ms. Hilderbatch guessed. 

Atlanta hummed a little louder, nodded and smiled crookedly, her golden eyes trailing to Altair. Draco didn’t understand the significance of her choice of song (mostly because he didn’t know it), but it was that moment Ms. Hilderbatch noticed the state of the bag Draco had. It had clearly been dragged across the cobble stones at some point. 

“Draco, can I take that,” she offered politely. 

From the look on her face, Draco did not dare refuse. He handed her the beat up bag. She peeked in and snorted, glee in her ice blue eyes. She ruffled Atlanta’s wavy, raven hair and winked. Atlanta went on humming. 

* * *

It was an unassuming notebook. It was black, shabby and had yellowing pages. It was small, thin and faded and easily hid within the Transfiguration textbook Harry had discovered it in. Harry went to hand it to Draco, but Atlanta grabbed it first. Atlanta turned it over in her hands and by her expression Draco knew she felt something fishy with the little, black book. 

“I don’t know how it works,” Draco admitted. “But Father said it opens the Chamber of Secrets.”

“How can a book do that?” Harry asked. 

Draco shrugged. “You’d be amazed what books in our world do. The Ministry confiscates books all the time that have spells on them that can do ghastly things.”

“Daddy’s got a book that screams insults about your blood status if you get too close,” Atlanta offered.  

“There’s books that you cannot stop reading. You read till you die,” Draco offered, grinning. Looking at Harry, he knew they were both thinking of Hermione. 

“But, _Draak_ ,” Atlanta started, using her summer nickname for Draco. It changed every summer depending on what language she was tackling. Draco had no clue what language was this summer’s language since she’d spent most of the summer in London. “What’s special about this book that you had to get it off of Ginny? Other than it’s drowning in Dark magic.” 

Draco stared at the book, narrowing his eyes and backing away a bit. How did she know that? 

“You’re scared of it.”

“I am not,” Draco snapped. “How did you know it was…Dark?”

“I can see it,” Atlanta replied. “I can see magic, didn’t you know? This book has dark, black magic all over it. I’m opening it.”

“NO!”

Harry and Atlanta stared in bewilderment at Draco.

“You said it was Dark! Why would you want to open it?” 

“It’s only the cover that is dark,” she replied, turning it over. “There…there’s something about it. I want to open it. The pages are clear of magic. I can see it here.” 

She pointed at the yellowing pages visible without opening the book. 

“It opens the Chamber of Secrets. Maybe if you open it, it does something to you making you able to open the Chamber,” Draco offered, running a hand through his messy hair. 

“Draco, we’ve been to the Chamber of Secrets. Remember?” Harry reminded him. “Why are you so freaked out?”

“Remember what the snake told you?”

Harry frowned. Harry’s claim to the Heir spot and control of the snake was weak. Harry opened his mouth to retort when Sookie popped into Atlanta’s bedroom to tell them dinner was ready. Atlanta shoved the diary back into the Transfiguration textbook and that was the last time the three looked or spoke of the diary for the rest of summer break. The whirl of outings and social events took up their remaining days of freedom. Draco swore as he collapsed on the train to school, they’d sort the diary out once they reached Hogwarts. 


	4. The Final Sort

**Disclaimer: If you know it, I do not own it.**

* * *

Draco took his seat at the Gryffindor table, glancing around at all the eager faces. Harry plopped down next him. Draco’s and Harry’s body language spoke of exhaustion, the opposite feeling the majority was exuding. Just remembering all the social events he’d been dragged to during the summer made him want to curl into a ball and scream. For some reason, being a Gryffindor at these events made them ten times more torturous. 

Theodore Nott had been at each gathering, sneering and mocking Harry and Draco at every turn. One time Nott had charmed Harry’s water goblet to melt, sending vibrant purple juice all over the white linens. Least to say, the hostess of the event was livid with The-Boy-Who-Spilled. Of course, Draco and Harry had gotten their revenge on Nott. With Atlanta’s mental music catalogue, Harry’s natural knack for mischief and Draco’s potion brewing skills, they’d managed to get Nott to ingest a potion that caused him to sing the same annoying song any time he opened his mouth. Granted, no one other than Atlanta and Harry knew the song, but after three hours of Nott singing it each time he opened his mouth, everyone who socialized in the upper class wizarding society knew all the words to “Achy Breaky Heart.” 

Hermione sat down across from the boys, looking rather amused by their bleary expressions. Harry and Draco had fallen asleep on the train. Sheer exhaustion won out over staying awake for the train ride to school. Thus, there had been no Diary Plotting. Or socializing of any sort. Draco was honestly surprised when he jolted awake, he wasn’t covered in hexes and curses. 

“Lovely summer?” she asked as the students waited for the first years to show up.

Hermione and Draco had traded several letters over the summer before Harry had shown up and taken over his life. The last few weeks, he hadn’t bothered to answer her letters, due to the fact he was “social” from morning till night.  

Harry snorted. Draco rolled his eyes, allowing his head to drop to the table top.

“Well, it started off great. Draco’s insane House Elf stole my mail and then tried to get me kicked out of school,” Harry started. “Then his father showed up and scared my relatives senseless! That was awesome, even if Mr. Malfoy scares me.” 

“House Elf?” Hermione asked, bypassing the fear inducing father. 

“He’s, uh, a servant,” Draco said carefully, slowly picking up his head. 

In the past, Draco was sure Hermione had been vocal about House Elf rights, which made no sense, but it was useless telling her that.

“Draco said the thing meant well,” Harry mumbled.

“He does! He loves you!”

Harry made a noise and rolled his eyes in disgust. Dobby was not Harry’s favorite House Elf. 

“Then, the summer was a never ending Parade Harry Around for the World to see!” Harry shouted, throwing his hands up in the air. 

“So, what house do you think will be cursed with Atlanta?” Draco asked, hoping to change the subject. He’d heard Harry’s rant on the social schedule too often to care to hear it again. 

Harry, perked up a bit. “I hope she’s in Gryffindor.”

“I bet she’s a Hufflepuff,” Hermione offered. “She’s super friendly. I met her on the train when I went looking for awake people to talk to. She was sitting with a Weasley and this really weird girl.”

“There’s someone weirder than Atlanta?” Draco asked. 

“She wasn’t strange,” Hermione offered. “Atlanta. Not the other girl. She was reading a magazine upside down. And kept going on about Nargels. Atlanta was rather sweet, even if she broke out into song a few times. That was…odd.” 

Draco managed to stop himself from snorting as the doors flew open and McGonagall lead two lines of first years in. Hermione made a noise of irritation. She ought to have been at the Ravenclaw table, but there was no time to move. She remained at the Gryffindor table, tapping her finger. 

“They came quicker than I thought,” she remarked. 

Atlanta was near the front, looking around with huge eyes. Draco glanced up at the enchanted ceiling to see it reflecting the night skies, stars and moon standing out. The moon wasn’t full, but it looked larger than life in the midnight blue sky. Draco didn’t pay much attention as the Hat sang it’s dumb song. Harry looked dead on his feet, resting his head in his hand and his eyes going in and out of focus. 

Who knew social events could be so draining?  

“Where do Blacks usually go?” Harry whispered as the first named was called out. 

“Slytherin,” Draco said. “I’m pretty sure Sirius Black was the only one ever not sorted into Slytherin.”

“Really?” Harry asked, looking somewhat interested. 

Draco opened his mouth, but Hermione began talking. 

“Really, do we need to hear your theory of Sirius Black being innocent again?”

Even with being the brightest witch in their year (or hell, the whole school), Hermione refused to entertain the idea that Sirius Black was innocent— no matter how many times Draco told her his theory and backed up his claims with lack of evidence against Sirius Black. 

“No trail. Innocent until _proven_ guilty.” Draco put on his stubborn face. 

Hermione rolled her eyes. 

“He’s never been proven guilty in a court of law,” Draco reminded her as McGonagall shouted, “BLACK, ATLANTA.”

The whole hall fell silent as Atlanta made her way up to the stool. Draco noticed Dumbledore staring at Atlanta, looking as if he was seeing a ghost. She turned and faced the whole hall, giving them all a haughty look, making her look every inch a Black. Neville made a high pitched noise and lost all the color in his face. Instantly, Draco realized who Atlanta was reminding Neville of: Bellatrix Lastrange nee Black. 

“She’s not, uh, related to…” his voice trailed off.

“Well, not very directly. She’s American,” Draco filled in. 

“American?”

The word was whispered in a round as Atlanta sat down on the stool, squaring her shoulders and waiting as McGonagall plopped the Hat down on her head. The Hat covered her eyes, but you could still see Atlanta’s mouth, which quickly quirked into a crooked smile. It left quickly, though, turning into a scowl worthy of a Malfoy. 

Atlanta balled her fists and for the next fifteen minutes seemed to be having a rather heated argument with the Hat. Her mouth dropped open and she gasped in shock, leaping up and tearing the Hat off her head. She threw it on the ground. 

The whole hall gasped.

“I have never—”

She didn’t finished. She pursed her mouth tightly, her lips suddenly vanishing into her face. She was doing a very good impersonation of Professor McGonagall, who was wearing the same expression.

“Miss Black, what is the meaning of this?” McGonagall demanded.

Dumbledore looked concerned. 

Draco watched Atlanta take a few deep breaths before regaining her composure. It was almost as if she’d taken off one mask and put on another. She turned towards McGonagall and said rather steadily, “The Hat and I had a disagreement, ma’am.” 

A low drone of whispers broke out among the students while the teachers all seemed to be at a loss. Dumbledore appeared perplexed. He stood up, easily moving around the long Head Table and picked up the ratty hat. He jammed it on his own head, right over his ugly, bright orange pointed hat, and proceeded to pace back and forth in front of the school while he conversed with the Hat. After a tense ten minutes, he removed the Hat, looking — if this were possible— more baffled. 

“Miss Black, you seemed to have befuddled the Sorting Hat,” Dumbledore remarked, sounding rather amused, even if he didn’t look it. “It is tired of sorting you. Each version of you is too different for his liking.”

Atlanta frowned as the whole hall began to mutter. Dumbledore plopped the Hat back on her head and stood there while Atlanta had battled with the Hat for another ten minutes. She stomped her foot a few times. She threw her hands up in the air and scowled. She began shaking her head, folding her arms across her chest stubbornly. 

Draco tried not to laugh. He chanced a glance at Harry, who had witness this pass summer how headstrong Atlanta could be when she wanted. Harry looked like he was about to burst into a fit of giggles. This might have been on by his near exhaustion, or the fact it was somewhat amusing the fact Atlanta was fighting with an object. 

“SLYTHERIN!” the Hat shouted.

Harry gasped, as did Draco. Hermione’s mouth dropped open. 

“YOU PUT ME IN RAVENCLAW LAST TIME!” Atlanta shouted, pulling the Hat further down on her head and moving away from McGonagall, who was trying to take it off her head.

“YOU ARE NOT HER!”

Draco felt his blood freeze. The other Atlanta. The one he’d accidentally sent back in time when he’d sent himself back had been in Ravenclaw? 

He could see it. The Atlanta wearing the Hat at the moment? Not so much.     

“YEAH, BUT I’M NOT THE OTHER ONE EITHER!”

The other one? Draco frowned and something slithering into his mind, coming to the surface from a long forgotten time. 

1943.

The Hat had said the timeline began changing in 1943. How had Atlanta gotten to 1943? Was it the one in front of him or the other one? Maybe Atlanta the First didn’t die in the seventies, but had gone to 1943? 

Time travel was confusing. 

“CHANGE YOUR MIND!”

“I WILL NOT CHANGE MY MIND.”

“YES, YOU WILL.”

“NO, I WILL NOT.”

It explained why Dumbledore had been so pale and shocked when Atlanta had walked in. He had seen her before. Maybe he was trying to figure out which one she was as well, having been at the school in 1943 and in the late seventies. 

“I WON’T GO.”

“YES, YOU WILL.”

Atlanta threw the Hat off and stomped on it before picking it back up and slamming it on her head. McGonagall tried to remove the Hat from Atlanta’s head, but Dumbledore stopped her.

“Let her get it out of her system,” Dumbledore said quietly. Draco got the strangest feeling that the Hat had told Dumbledore about the time traveling Atlanta Black and it hadn’t made him happy. 

“It’s in our choices!” Atlanta suddenly shouted. “Choices! Not whatever is in our heads!” 

She was quiet for a moment. 

She snorted.

Then she laughed.

Finally she looked pleased with whatever the Hat was now saying inside her head. 

“GRYFFINDOR.”

Atlanta plucked the Hat off her head and handed it to a stunned McGonagall. She pivoted on her heel towards Dumbledore and said, “The Hat requests I stop time traveling to Hogwarts. Do you know why it said that?”

“A story for another day,” Dumbledore said faintly. “Now, Miss Black, if you’d take your seat.”

“Sure thing, sir,” Atlanta agreed. 

The Gryffindor table burst into applause as Atlanta walked towards the table. The Weasley twins grabbed her before she got too far, pulling her between them. In the chaos, Hermione dashed off to the Ravenclaw table. 

“You have to tell us what you did!”

“I’ve never seen anything like that!”

Atlanta laughed, but looked bewildered. 

After catching Draco’s eye, Harry burst out into loud laughter. Then he fell head first into his plate. Draco picked him up by his hair. 

“Why are we both still tired after napping for the whole trip?”

“Naps kill,” was Harry’s answer. “Anything longer than twenty minutes isn’t a nap and it ruins your sleeping patterns or something.”

Draco raised an eyebrow and let go of Harry’s hair. Harry propped his head in his hand and promptly fell back asleep. Draco struggled through the rest of the Sorting (where the Hat sorted everyone without problems) and made it through dinner before he dragged Harry out before pudding. The pair of boys got the password off Prefect Weasley (Draco silently swearing he’d learn the boy’s name) and headed off to the quiet dorm where they fell into their beds and surrendered to another eight hours of sleep.

* * *

The first day of classes was nothing to write home about. Atlanta had promised her dad she’d write though, so she was debating on what to include in her letter while Draco and Harry both bickered like old women over what to do with the Diary of Doom. Draco was twitchy, as he always was around the diary. It was as if he feared it’d reach out and bite him. Harry, meanwhile, looked curious. His brilliant green gaze drifted to the nondescript black book and lingered. For some reason, Atlanta got the impression the Diary of Doom was speaking to Harry. She shifted her vision for a moment so she could see magic clearer. Mr. Remus had taught her how to do it so she wouldn’t be overwhelmed in a place as magical as Hogwarts. When she’d first started seeing magic a few years ago, each time she visited her father at work, her eyes grew sore and her head hurt from a visual magic overdose. 

The Diary of Doom was still oozing Dark magic. It eked out, swirled around and back into itself. She studied it carefully then glanced back at Harry. His scar oozed the similar magic, though not as concentrated. 

It was odd. Atlanta knew she wasn’t old enough to pick out different wizard and witches magics, so for all she knew the two weren’t related. 

Atlanta cleared her throat and shifted back to normal vision.

“So, what are we going to do with this book?” she questioned, looking between the boys. 

“Give it to Dumbledore,” Draco offered. 

Harry stared at him in confusion. “Why?”

“He’s headmaster. He’ll dispose of it.”

“Why?” Harry asked again, looking somewhat angry. “Why destroy it? It’s just a blank book.”

“Who are you and what have you done with Harry Potter? This book is evil!” Draco hissed, his face pinching. “You destroy things that are evil!” 

Atlanta stifled a giggle, as Draco looked like an angry ferret when he made that face. 

“Remember what happened last year when we ran to the teachers? None of them believed us,” Harry said, crossing his arms across his chest. He gave Draco a challenging look. “I bet Dumbledore will take one look at that book and think we’re insane. Remember what Snape did when Hermione told him exactly what we were going to do to Quirrellmort?”

Draco shifted, frowning deeply. Last year, they had somehow exorcised the spirit of Voldemort from the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. Draco claimed it was because he didn’t fancy playing chess when she’d questioned him. 

Draco wasn’t any good at chess. 

Though, she didn’t understand what chess had to do with anything.  

“I bet he’ll look at this book and will believe us,” Draco insisted. “Atlanta said it was oozing with Dark magic. I have no doubt Dumbledore will be able to feel it.” 

“How does it even open the Chamber of Secrets?” Harry asked. “You’ve never told us.”

Draco deflated. Draco had been acting rather off kilter ever since his eleventh birthday. Atlanta had been somewhat scared he was going to snub her when he went off to the glorious Hogwarts School, but instead he kept in touch. And brought along a brand new friend in the form of Harry Potter of all people. This summer, when not being paraded around by their parents, he actually played with her. Draco never used to play with her. He always called her childish and frivolous when she’d want to just be a kid. 

Draco also used to hero worship his father. Now, it was almost as if he could not stand the sight of the man. (The feelings seemed to be mutual.) The other odd thing was he put up with his mother’s smothering behavior as if he had _missed_ it last summer.

Then, this summer Narcissa wasn’t smothering at all. 

Yes, there was something rather strange about the Malfoys.

Atlanta loved it. 

“How about this— we’ll do what your bookish friend always wants to do: research. I can see the magic in this book. It’s…dark, but…I don’t know. Let’s hold on to it. I agree with Harry. Let’s figure out what it does exactly and once we have solid, well researched proof we can go to the professors!”

Ah, compromise. 

Harry looked excited. Draco deflated further. 

“You’ve been spending too much time with Mr. Remus,” Draco muttered, glaring darkly at her. 

Atlanta smiled at Draco sweetly. 

“I agree with Siri,” Harry quickly said, smiling largely. “We can tell Hermione tomorrow at breakfast. I bet she’ll love this. You know how she loves researching a problem.”

Harry jumped to his feet and hurried to get his school bag, as even though it was the first day of classes, he had homework. Atlanta took the diary, tucking it into her book bag. It did not look like Draco was going to take it and they both knew Harry was bound to do something silly if he had it. 

“Whatever you do, don’t write in that book,” Draco warned, pulling his own homework out of his bag. 

“Why ever not?” Atlanta asked, half serious. 

“I don’t know. It makes sense,” Draco offered.

Shrugging, Atlanta went back to trying to figure out what to put in her letter to her father. She figured she ought to leave out the Hat’s insistence she stop time traveling. Though, she might tell her father about the fact the Hat claimed his name was Sherlock. 

* * *

_A/N: If you would like to see how the Sorting Hat decided its name, see_[Call Me Sherlock](../../868373), _which is part of the_ Over the Rainbow series. 


	5. Trouble with Potting

**Disclaimer: If you know it, I fail to own it. Parts taken from Chamber of Secrets.**

* * *

Harry was frowning the next morning. Draco wasn’t sure why he was frowning, but Harry was wearing a very large frown on his face as he sat down at the Gryffindor table for breakfast. Without looking at Draco, Harry grabbed the ladle for the porridge and slopped it into a bowl. He grabbed a piece of toast and angrily bit into it, while thrusting a spoon into his porridge. Harry’s mood was reflected by the rather gloomy sky that danced above their heads on the enchanted ceiling. Before Draco could ask Harry what had gotten into him, Hermione sat down across from him, glowing. She was holding her copy of _Voyages with Vampires_ by Lockhart. 

“Have you read these books?” she asked, sounding breathless. “They are utterly brilliant.”

Draco almost choked on his kipper. Harry did in fact choke on his toast he’d been angrily eating. 

“I thought you were smart,” Draco sardonically drawled. 

Hermione frowned. “These books are brilliant. Honestly! Professor Lockhart has done many great and wonderful things for the wizarding community! I cannot wait till I have class with him!”

Without waiting for Draco to reply, she turned her attention to Neville, who was looking rather confused as an owl landed in front of him with a rather large box. He frowned, taking the box from the owl. The owl, more than likely channeling Neville grandmother, bit his finger so hard, Neville yelped. He stuck his finger in his mouth, frowning as the owl took flight. 

“What did you do to it?” Hermione asked.

“Nothing,” Neville muttered. “I clearly forgot something I shouldn’t have.”

Neville peered in the box, turning a brilliant shade of red.

“Trevor?”

“You forgot your toad?” Draco asked.

Neville snapped the lid shut on the box, muttered something about seeing them in class, and hurried off. Hermione sighed deeply. 

“I can’t believe I have to wait till tomorrow for Defense. I’m going to go grab another book. I’ve got one more to read before class tomorrow,” she said, her excitement clear on her face. 

She was gone in a blur of bushy hair. 

“Humph,” Harry growled, cramming more food into his mouth. 

“What’s with you?”

“Lockhart,” Harry muttered.

Draco nodded his head. “I see. Did he want more photos?”

Harry glared at him. Yesterday morning, Harry had been cornered by a first year with a camera. Lockhart had come across the pair and decided to give Harry advice on giving out photos of himself. 

Harry remained in a foul mood throughout breakfast and continued as he and Draco walked to Herbology. Draco had never liked Herbology. He had an aversion to dirt for starters, and he didn’t fancy the way dung smelled either. Harry froze before they neared the greenhouses, his eyes almost popping out of his head. 

“No,” he breathed. “Please, powers that be, have mercy on me.” 

Draco followed Harry’s gaze to find none other than Gilderoy Lockhart following alongside Professor Sprout, who looked like she was ready to murder the next person to cross her. Her flyaway hair had sparks in it as she attempted to get away from Lockhart, who like an annoying gnat refused to leave her be. He prattled on about one thing or another, while Spout attempted to get away. Sprout, darting around, finally spotted the class, her eyes zeroing in Harry. 

“No,” Harry moaned, seemingly knowing what the professor was up to. She said something to Lockhart, who turned, face lighting up. 

“Harry! Oh, hello there!” Lockhart beamed at the group of students that gathered around Harry and Draco. “Just showing Professor Sprout here the right way to care for a Whomping Willow.”

Draco frowned, turning to look at the tree. In the original timeline, Harry and the Weasel had crashed a flying car into the tree, damaging it. This time, there was no car, thus why did the tree have to be cared for? 

“I don’t want you running away with the idea that I’m better at Herbology than your professor, but I do know several ways to care for a Whomping Willow she doesn’t know! I’ve met quite a few of these rare trees on my travels,” he finished, beaming a blinding smile at the group of students. 

“Greenhouse three today, chaps!” Sprout shouted, looking disgruntled and relieved to have the students to distract her. “Hop to it!”

The group of second year Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs all murmured excitedly, as they’d not been allowed in greenhouse three before. Far more dangerous and interesting plants were kept there. Sprout motioned for everyone to follow her, taking a key off her belt. She opened the door, the smell of the greenhouse filling the air around them. Draco cringed as the damp earth and fertilizer hit his nose. Harry let out a small sigh of relief. Draco had just stepped inside when he realized Harry wasn’t following him. Draco paused, seeing he was the last person to enter, and wondered where Harry had gotten to. 

Lockhart had Harry, who was struggling to get his arm free that Lockhart had in a firm grip. Not that Lockhart noticed all the jerking movements Harry was making. 

“Harry!” the man shouted loudly as if Harry was deaf. “I wanted to finish our conversation from this morning!”

Ah, no wonder Harry was grumpy. Cornered by Lockhart before breakfast, not the best way to start one’s day. 

“I have CLASS!” Harry shouted, looking at Sprout for help.

“That he does,” Sprout said stiffly. 

“Harry, Harry, Harry,” Lockhart prattled, seemingly ignoring both Harry and Sprout’s ability to speak. 

Sprout issued an annoyed noise. 

“It’ll only be a minute. I’ve got important information to share with you. It’ll help with your publicity campaign,” Lockhart offered, using his grip on Harry’s arm to drag him off. 

Harry cast a glance over his shoulder at Draco. It cleared stated HELP!

“Get in the greenhouse, Mr. Malfoy,” Sprout said, sounding tired. “Harry will come back when the mad— when Professor Lockhart is done speaking with him.”

It sounded like it pained her to call Lockhart a professor. 

“Yes, Professor,” Draco murmured, heading over to the tray.  He stood next to Neville. 

She began to take roll, grinding her teeth together when she came to Harry’s name. Setting the parchment aside, she began to instruct everyone to gather around where she stood behind a trestle bench in the center of the greenhouse. About twenty pairs of different colored earmuffs stacked around her.

Draco remembered this lesson. The Mandrakes would not be needed this time around to revive Petrified people. Draco and Company had the diary and were not about to use it. Plus, Harry had control of the snake. 

Professor Sprout gave the class a quick overview of what second year would entail. By the time she was finished, Harry appeared next to Draco, looking as disgruntled as Sprout had before she’d began talking about plants. Talking about plants had reset her cheer level to normal. 

“We’ll be repotting Mandrakes today. Who can tell me the properties of the Mandrake?”

No one’s hand rose instantly into the air. After waiting a moment, Draco slowly raised his hand up. He still wasn’t used to the fact he knew the answers easily and before anyone else. He honestly figured he’d forget most things he’d deemed not worth his time when he was a kid, but the information was still stuck there in his grey matter. He was gaining a reputation as being clever. 

Not that he minded. It wasn’t actually true since he’d already done the lessons once before, but no one else knew that. 

“Mandrakes are powerful restoratives. It returns people who have been transfigured or cursed to their original states. Quite useful when people are Petrified.” 

Sprout frowned a bit at his last statement. “Correct, Mr. Malfoy. Ten points to Gryffindor.”

Draco smiled, thankful that maybe this year the professors would stop stumbling when they awarded him house points. Last year, he’d earned Slytherin a few house points because the professors seemed forget Draco was a Gryffindor. 

“Mandrakes form an essential part of most antidotes. It is, though, dangerous. Who can tell me why?”

“The cry of the Mandrake is fatal to anyone who hears it?”

The whole class turned to stare at Neville, who seemed almost shocked the answer had come out of his mouth.

“Correct! Ten points, Mr. Longbottom!” said Professor Sprout, looking like Christmas had shown up early. 

Neville appeared shell shocked, but smiled faintly. Draco nudged him and grinned. 

“The Mandrakes we’re repotting today are still very young, but you’ll still need earmuffs. The cry will only knock you out. Everyone take some earmuffs.”

There was a scramble to get the pair that wasn’t pink of fluffy. Draco snagged a pair of green ear muffs (how fitting) while Neville got the pink fluffy ones. Harry wound up with a pair of lurid, fluffy orange ones. 

“When I tell you, snap them on and make sure your ears are covered completely. I’ll give you a thumbs up when it’s safe to remove them. Right. Earmuffs on!”

Draco snapped his earmuffs on his head. The world fell silent. It was almost as if Draco had found himself inside a silent Muggle film. He had only watched one before, finding it rather dull, as it had no sound. Or explosions. Atlanta had introduced him to the joy of explosions over the summer. 

Feeling a little silly, Draco began to muse on titles for his Herbology silent film. 

_Professor Sprout and the Plants of Life and Death_

Eh, that wasn’t a very good title. 

_Professor Sprout and the Ugly Baby Plants_

Not much better, but more descriptive. Draco chuckled, while most of the second years around him all opened their mouths in shock or surprise at the sight of the muddy, extremely ugly baby that had leaves growing out of its head. Draco observed the pale green, mottled skin as the thing wailed at the top of its lung. 

Draco followed as Sprout repotted the Mandrake and buried it in dark, damp compost until only the tufted leaves were visible. Dusting her hands off, Sprout gave the all clear signal. 

“Not hard at all,” she said cheerily. “Remember, as they are still but seedlings, their cries will only knock you out for several hours. Keep those earmuffs on once be start work. I will attract your attention when it’s time to pack up.

“Four to a tray. Pots are here and the compost sacks are over there. Oh, please be careful of the Venomous Tentacula. It’s teething.”

For unknown reasons, she slapped the plant in question, causing it to draw it its long feelers, which had ominously been inching over her shoulder. Draco tugged on Harry’s sleeve, indicating they ought to head over to a tray. Harry followed Draco over to a tray where two other Hufflepuffs were already setting themselves up to work. One of them stared wide eyed as Draco and Harry approached. Draco assumed it was due to the fact it was Harry Potter, but the boy was staring straight at Draco. 

That was…odd. 

“Justin Finch-Fletchley,” the other said brightly, sticking his hand out and grabbing Harry’s hand. “Know who you are, of course, the famous Harry Potter. Oh, and you’re Draco Malfoy!”

Draco gave a mock surprised look to Finch-Fletchley. He refrained asking, “Am I really?”  

“Lockhart is something, isn’t he?” Finch-Fletchley happily went on, seemingly obviously to the fact the other boy, who Draco failed to remember, was looking at Draco as if he was insane one who thought Lockhart was something. “Awfully brave chap. Have you read his books? I’d have died of fear if I’d been corned in a telephone booth by a werewolf, but he stayed cool and— zap — just fantastic.”

The boy began to fill his pot with dragon dung compost. Harry followed suit, looking bewildered. Draco frowned, glancing over at the other boy, who was still staring at Draco. He almost looked terrified. Draco frowned. 

“No werewolf would corner someone in a telly booth,” Draco pointed out, deciding to ignore the rude boy. “Werewolves have no mind when they are transformed. They act on pure instinct. And a telly booth wouldn’t stop a werewolf from getting its prey.”

Finch-Fletchley opened and closed his mouth a few times, regarding Draco in what looked like confusion.

“What’s a telly booth?” the other boy asked. 

“He meant telephone booth,” Harry explained. “Draco, we’ve been over this before. It’s a telephone.” 

Harry made a motion with his thump and pinkie and held it up near his face, the pinkie near his mouth and the thumb near his ear. 

“You talk on the telephone, also known as a phone,” Harry went on, smiling that damn mischievous smile while Draco glowered down at him. “You watch a telly. And you don’t put a telly in a booth.”

“And a telly is?” the other boy asked, still eyeing at Draco. 

“Television,” both Finch-Fletchley and Harry said together. 

“Well, when you want to know what a Grim is, I’ll mock you too,” Draco grumbled, jamming some more dirt into his pot. 

The other boy at the table paled.

“What’s a Grim?” Finch-Fletchley asked. “I’m a Muggleborn. There is so much I don’t know about the wizarding world. My name was down for Eton, you know. I can’t tell you how glad I’m to be here. Mother was slightly disappointed. It was kind of hard to explain why I wasn’t going to Eton, you see.”

Harry nodded, clearly knowing what Eton was. Draco assumed, based on context, it was a school. 

“I got her to read a few of Lockhart’s books and now she’s rather keen on having a fully trained wizard in the family.”

“All right! Earmuffs on class!” Sprout said.

Draco had never been so happy to snap his earmuffs on. 


	6. Pandemonium in the Classroom

**Disclaimer: If you know it, I do not own it. Parts taken out of _Chamber of Secrets,_ by JK Rowling. **

* * *

Frustration ran high by lunch. Transfiguration was hard. Transfiguration had never been easy for Draco, as he did not have a flare for it. But, he had already done these lessons and passed. For the life of him, Draco could not fathom why the beetle refused to turn into a button. Throughout the hour long class, Harry’s beetle ran all over his desk while he attempted to poke it with his wand. Draco’s didn’t run anywhere. It had no legs. 

It was a legless beetle. 

McGonagall was not impressed. 

Draco swore he had managed to change beetle into a button last time. Or maybe his inflated ego had rewritten the past? 

Either way, he was pissed off by the time the lesson was over and he and Harry were on their way to the Great Hall. 

“I feel like a wrung out sponge,” Harry complained as he fell into step with Draco. He was silent till they reached the Great Hall and he asked, “What do we have this afternoon?”

“Defense Against the Dark Arts,” Draco replied.

Harry let out a groan, flopping onto the bench. He put his head into his folded arms and pouted in private. Harry was still pouting when Hermione sat down on the across from Draco. She studied Harry for a moment. 

“What’s his problem?”

“Lockhart,” Draco replied, grabbing a chicken leg. 

“Oh,” Hermione said, getting a rather dreamy expression on his face. “He’s rather brilliant.”

“Kill me now,” came Harry’s muffled voice. 

“Now, I can think of someone who would do you that favor,” Draco said lightly. “Would you like to go find him?”

Harry snickered darkly, picking his face out of his arms. “Yeah. Where do we start looking? Anything to avoid Lockhart.”

“He is not that bad,” Hermione huffed. 

“He’s an airhead,” Atlanta announced, sitting down next to Hermione. The Weaselette sat down on her other side, looking bashfully at Harry. Her face flushed a bit and she quickly hid behind her red hair. 

“He is a professor. Professor Dumbledore would never have hired him—”

“The job is cursed, darling,” Draco drawled. “Since about the mid sixties the school has been unable to keep a professor in the position for more than a year.”  

“That is preposterous,” Hermione sniffed.

“Who cursed it? Moldy?” Atlanta asked, perking up. 

“Moldy?” came the quiet voice of Weaselette.

“Voldemort,” Harry corrected. “She thinks he’s moldy for some reason.”

Draco stared at Atlanta strangely for a moment, having an odd sense of déjà vu. 

“I think Professor Lockhart is brilliant,” Hermione stated. 

“Have you had class with him yet?” Atlanta asked, helping herself to a chicken leg. “Because all he did was talk about himself for an hour. I could tell you all about hair care products!” 

Harry let out a loud groan and flopped his head back to his folded arms. Hermione narrowed her eyes at Atlanta. Atlanta didn’t seem to notice, as she stuffed the chicken leg into her mouth. 

“Harry! Harry!”

Harry let out another loud groan at the sound of someone calling out for him. “Kill me. Please.”

“Tragically, we cannot. We must save you for Moldy,” Draco teased.

“Draco!” Hermione snapped. 

“What? He knows I’m joking,” Draco insisted. 

“Harry! Harry!” 

Colin Creevey came to a floundering halt near Harry, almost crashing into Draco in his hast to reach the Boy-Who-Hated-Being-Famous. Creevey was a small, mousy looking boy whose whole face brimmed with excitement, which was enough for the tiny child to cause Draco to scoot away from Harry. 

“Look! They came out great!”

Creevey was brandishing the collection of photos in his hands. He thrust the stack under Harry’s nose, still waving the pile around wildy. Harry jerked backwards in order not to get a paper cut under the nose.

“They move! Look!” 

Creevey flourished the photos some more in Harry’s face. Draco internally mocked the first year (of course they are moving, you are moving them) until he got annoyed with the flapping and grabbed the boy’s arm to still the movement. Draco peered over Creevey’s extended arm at the photos. Photo-Creevey was beaming and holding onto Harry, who was attempting to leave the frame. 

“Can you sign it? Please? I’m going to send it to my dad. He’s a milkman. He can’t believe any of this! Here.”

Creevey held out a Muggle pen for Harry, who stared at it for along drawn out moment like it was a knife ready to stab him in the heart. Harry was about to take the pen, when a loud scathing voice sounded from the other side of the table.

“Signed photos? You’re singing photos now, Potter?”

Harry’s hand dropped. His head whipped in the direction of the voice. Nott and his two thugs, Crabbe and Goyle, stood leering at the photos in Creevey’s hands, which had finally stilled. 

“Not for everyone,” Harry insisted, his hands balling into fists.

Creevey took in the interaction between the group with a frown on his face. Quickly figuring out that Harry cared none for Nott, Creevey piped, “You’re just jealous.”

Crabbe and Goyle began to crack their knuckles together, clearly getting ready to have an all out fist fight with Creevey. Yeah, that’d be a fair fight. Creevey was about as thick as Crabbe’s neck. 

“Jealous?” Nott spit out at the tiny first year. “Of what? I don’t want a foul scar across my head. Getting your head cut up doesn’t make you special.”

“Oh, no, it doesn’t,” Draco quickly agreed. “Being an enormous prat whose best come back is, ‘My father will hear about this’ makes you super, duper special.”

Nott’s eyes went wide. Draco mentally punched himself in the mouth. He was turning into a Gryffindor more and more. Soon, he was going to stop thinking all together. 

Wait. That was what Draco used to say. It was…his catch phrase. His prattish, childish catch phrase. He could hear it coming out of his mouth. 

Oh, he was going to be sick. 

“You know, you’re rather ugly,” Atlanta announced rather loudly. 

Nott turned his attention to Atlanta, narrowing his eyes at her. If looks could kill, Atlanta would not be long for the world. 

“I don’t understand why you think you can talk to anyone like you’re better than them,” Atlanta went on, seemingly not noticing the fact Crabbe and Goyle were cracking their knuckles louder and Nott had gotten his wand out. “You’re not nice, not pretty and you’re saying really dumb things.” 

“Who asked you, reject?” Nott spat. 

Atlanta quirked an eyebrow. “I’ve never been rejected from anything, thank you very much.”

“The Sorting Hat rejected you.”

Atlanta snorted. “No. Evidently it was tired of sorting me. Crazy hat. Come on, Ginny.”

Atlanta gracefully stood up from the bench. Instead of stalking out, she began singing softly, leaning in close to Nott. Draco couldn’t hear what she was singing, but judging by her expression she was taunting him with whatever she was singing. She smiled sweetly, turned and hooked her arm with Ginny, steering the shorter girl towards the door.  

What happened next was bizarre, to say the least. Nott went cross-eyed for a moment. He swayed back and forth. He blinked a few times, his eyes straightened out. He turned around and went away without saying another word. Crabbe and Goyle looked confused (that wasn’t anything new) and blundered off after their fearless leader. 

Draco frowned and looked towards the door where Ginny and Atlanta were walking towards. Atlanta reached the doorway and turned around. Locking eyes with Draco, she gave a very small curtsy and skipped off. 

Turning his head back towards his friends, Draco caught Dumbledore staring at the spot where Atlanta had once stood, his face drained of color and his usually twinkling eyes dim. Frowning, Draco was about to ask Harry if he noticed this change, when Dumbledore reverted back to himself. 

“She is so strange,” Hermione commented under her breathe. “Did she do something to make him leave like that?”

“Harry?” 

Harry jolted, having forgotten Creevey was standing near him. Harry grabbed the pen and jotted his name down. Creevey beamed and scampered off. 

“He’s going to start a Harry Potter fan club,” Draco whispered in Harry’s ear once Creevey was gone.

“Don’t let Lockhart hear you say that,” Harry pleaded. “I bet he’d have all sorts of suggestions.” 

Hermione sniffed as if she was offended and stood up, stomping out of the Great Hall. Harry ate a little lunch and finally agreed they had to go to class, having avoided heading off toward DADA long enough. Looking as if he was heading to his death, Harry headed out of the Great Hall, trailing after Draco dragging his feet. 

* * *

“Me.” 

Lockhart stood in front of the class holding a copy of one of his books, his toothily smiling face taking up the entire cover. The picture winked at the class as the real version smiled largely, still holding the book next to his face. 

“Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Forces Defense League, and five time winner of _Witch Weekly’s_ Most Charming Smile Award.” 

He gave off an even wider smile at this announcement. It was easy to tell which of those things he listed off meant the most to him: his Smile Award. It was amazing he’d only managed to win five times with the amount of time the guy spent smiling. 

“But, I don’t want to talk about that.”

Suuuure, you don’t want to talk about that, Draco thought scathingly. 

“I didn’t get rid of the Bandon Banshee by smiling at her!”

Lockhart waited for the class to laugh at his little joke, but no one did. Draco wanted to gouge his ears off his head. Harry let his head thump against his desk. 

“I see you’ve all bought a complete set of my books!” Lockhart exclaimed, setting his autobiography on his desk behind him. 

“Like we had a choice,” Harry muttered darkly, lifting his head up to glare at Lockhart. “Remind me to find Moldy ASAP.”

“You know, we shouldn’t joke about Voldemort killing you. It upsets Hermione,” Draco whispered. “Plus, we don’t know where he is.”

“I’ll ask Medusa to petrify me. She’ll do it.”

“Would she do me too?”

“We’re going to start today with a little quiz!” Lockhart exclaimed. “Nothing to worry about, just to check to see if you’ve read the books and how much you’ve taken in.”

Lockhart handed out his test papers (which were lilac and scented) and returned to the front of the room, still smiling. 

Draco was pretty sure the man didn’t know how not to smile.

“You have thirty minutes! Start now!”

Draco groaned. He looked down at the test questions, knowing full well what they were going to be about: Gilderoy Lockhart. 

He glanced at Harry who was wearing an expression that clearly stated he had no clue what the answers to any of the questions were and he thought he would be better off if he ate the quiz paper than write on it. 

Though, he better not do that. It might _taste_ like lilacs. 

Draco picked up his quill and decided to humor the smiling moron at the front of the classroom. 

_1\. What is Gilderoy Lockhart’s favorite color?_ **_Lilac_ **

_2\. What is Gilderoy Lockhart’s secret ambition?_ **_Harmony between all magic and non-magical people and hair care products for all!_ **

_3\. What, in your opinion, is Gilderoy Lockhart’s greatest achievement to date?_ **_Smiling. All the time._ **

_4\. What is Gilderoy Lockhart’s lucky number?_ **_Twenty eight, as that is how many teeth we see when he smiles._ **

Draco snickered darkly as he got more snarky in his answers. He could remember some of them from the first time around, but not all of them. He’d never cracked a Lockhart book in his life and he did not plan now. 

_53\. What is Gileroy Lockhart’s favorite food?_ **_Toothpaste. The version that whitens so he has the best smile of all time. Or salmon. Promotes shiny hair._ **

_54\. What is the ideal birthday gift for Gilderoy Lockhart?_ **_A complete line of tooth whitening products to make his smile more complete along with a complete set of hair care products for unruly hair._ **

_55\. What is Gilderoy Lockhart’s favorite song?_ **_“The Joy of Hair Products”_**

Draco tried to use often as he dared the words “hair care products” or “smiling” in his answers. By the time the half hour was up, Draco had filled his paper while Harry’s was still blank. Harry had spent the thirty minutes stuffing his quill into his mouth so he didn’t burst out laughing while reading Draco’s answers. Lockhart collected the quizzes and began to shuffle through them in front of the class. A frown appeared on his face for a moment. 

“Tut, tut— hardly any of you remember my favorite color is lilac,” the man began. 

“Why else is the paper purple?” Draco snarked in a low voice to Harry, who snorted. 

“I say so in _Year with the Yeti_. And a few of you must read _Wanderings with Werewolves_ more carefully. I clearly state in chapter twelve that my ideal birthday gift would be harmony between all magic and non-magic people.”

“Oops. I think I wrote that down for the secret ambition,” Draco muttered. 

Harry snorted again. 

“Ah, Mr. Malfoy wrote that down as my secret ambition. No, that would be to rid the world of evil and market my own range of hair care products,” Lockhart announce, giving the class a roguish wink. 

Lockhart made a rather loud humming noise as he read over Draco’s quiz. 

“Mr. Malfoy, you are the only person who put any thought into your answers. You’ve clearly read the books!”

Draco went red. He wanted to shout he had never, and would never, read one of the fraud’s books. But it did not seem like the time to shout that information. Harry could barely contain his laughter. He stuffed his fist into his mouth as he’d already chewed his quill to the nub. 

“You know my favorite color! Good job. And, while I do think winning the _Witch Weekly’s_ Most Charming Smile Award five times is an achievement, it’s not my greatest achievement to date.”

He flashed them a large smile. 

“Ten points to Gryffindor, Mr. Malfoy!”

“Let’s go,” Draco whispered as his fellow year mates all stared at him oddly. Some glared at him, some gave him looks of confusion, while some looked at him as if he were the Insane One, not the boy with his fist stuffed in his mouth next to Draco who appeared to be falling out of his chair. 

“What?” Harry asked, managing to stop snickering.

“I need to die. Let’s go find some trouble, die and then maybe I won’t remember this instant.”

“You’re the one who wrote all that stuff.”

“To insult him,” Draco whispered as Lockhart went on talking. “I didn’t think he’d take it as a compliment. I was mocking him!”

Harry snorted loudly. The noise of Harry’s loud snort was covered up by Lockhart slamming a covered cage onto his desk.

“Now, be warned! It is my job to arm you against the foulest creatures known to wizardkind!” Lockhart stood up straighter and walked in front of the desk. “You may find yourself facing your worst fears in this room. Know only that no harm will come to you while I’m here! Now, remain calm.”

Draco noted a few of the kids had grown rather serious and were paying the utmost attention to Lockhart. Since this was the first second year class Lockhart had, Draco knew what was coming. The first time around he hadn’t had to face the Cornish pixies. He’d heard about the disaster. His first class with Lockhart had been rather…boring. They took the quiz and Lockhart yapped about himself for the rest of the time.  

“You must not scream. It might provoke them.”

Draco heard the class take a collective breath and hold it. Seeing their interest, Lockhart grinned and whipped the cover off in an over dramatic fashion. 

In the front of the room, Finnigan let out a snort of laughter and asked, “Cornish pixies?”

“Freshly caught Cornish pixies!” 

Finnigan snorted again. “They’re not dangerous.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure!” Lockhart replied, waggling a finger at Finnigan. “They are tricky little blighters.”

Draco stared at the electric blue, eight inch tall pixies. They had pointed faces and shrill voices. They were not amused to be locked in the cage. Draco knew Lockhart’s plan was to let the pixies out to wreak havoc on the class.

“Let’s see what you can make of them!”

And he opened the cage, allowing chaos to transpire. The pixies shot out in all directions and caused pandemonium. Two seized Neville by the ears and lifted him into the air. Neville let out a squeak and waved his arms around. Draco jumped under his desk just in time not to be showered with glass shards, as several of the pixies shot out through the windows. The ones remaining grabbed ink pots, books, and anything else they could get their hands on. They spilled the ink pots, shredded the books and hung Neville from the light fixture on the ceiling. 

“Let’s round them up!” Lockhart shouted while the world was ending in the classroom. “They are only pixies!”

Draco didn’t see what the idiot was doing, but he heard him shout out a spell Draco was sure he’d made up. 

“ _Peskipiksi Pesternomi!”_

Lockhart let out a high pitch squeal and a moment later there was a loud noise that sounded like the light fixture had given out on poor Neville. The following, “Why me?” groan from Neville confirmed the poor guy was more than likely in need of an escort to the Hospital Wing. The bell rang shortly after Neville fell. Draco summoned Neville to himself (Neville reached him without ramming into anything) and he bolted from the room before Lockhart could carrell him into hoarding the pixies into the cage again. 

“Thanks,” Neville muttered as Draco levitated him down the crowded hall. “I think I can walk though.”

“Longbottom, you just fell from the ceiling and landed on your back. I think not,” Draco said. 

“I can move my legs,” Neville muttered, his face scrunching up in pain as he attempted.

“Hush.”

Neville quietly floated along side of Draco to the Hospital Wing, where Madam Pomfrey fussed over him and tutted about incompetent teachers. Draco found out she’d seen over ten kids who’d been harmed form Lockhart’s “hands on” lessons. 

It was only the second day of lessons. 


	7. Defining Things

**Disclaimer: If you know it, I do  not own it. If you really know it, highly likely it’s heavily influenced by _Chamber of Secrets_ by JK Rowling.**

* * *

Harry was mad at Draco for leaving him alone in Lockhart’s classroom, though he was unable to fault Draco for aiding Neville. To make up for it, Draco aided Harry in avoiding Lockhart for the next few days. In the end, Harry forgave Draco. 

Saturday morning, Draco vaguely thought Oliver Wood had appeared in their dormitory, waking Harry up at the ungodly hour of five in the morning. Rolling over, Draco went back to sleep. When Draco woke again, he sat up, stretched and noticed a note next to his bed. He grabbed it and found out he had not dreamed Oliver Wood into existence. 

“Crazy man,” Draco muttered, then froze.

It was second year. 

There was a spot open on the Slytherin team. The Seeker position. 

If things went as they’d been going, Nott was going to be on the team. And since Nott was channeling Old School Draco, his father more than likely had bought the team new brooms. Draco had not wanted his father to do this, but his father doubted Draco’s ability to actually get on the team without bribe of new brooms. 

Granted, Lucius was right. Draco sucked at being a Seeker. He wanted to be a Chaser, but since his father and grandfather had both been Seekers, it was out of the question for Draco to play any other position. 

“Bother,” Draco muttered, quickly dressing. He had no idea what time Harry had left, but if his brain was working, the Slytherin team wasn’t going to show up till after breakfast. Marcus Flint wasn’t as insane as Oliver Wood when it came to Quidditch. No one was as intense about Quidditch as Oliver Wood.  

Draco pulled out the parchment he and Hermione had charmed the year before and wrote her a quick note telling her to grab some toast and meet him in the Entrance Hall. 

By the time Draco reached the Entrance Hall, Hermione was bundled up for the chilly morning and was holding a rather large stack of toast. She held out half to him. He thanked her and the pair began walking towards the Quidditch pitch.

“Did Wood really wake Harry up before sunrise?”

“Yes. The man is cuckoo for Quidditch,” Draco said. “He is mentally imbalanced when it comes to the game since winning the Cup last year. He’s even more driven to win it again.” 

Hermione shook her head, not really understanding Quidditch. Draco did not care to explain it to her or press the matter. The field was empty when the pair arrived. They settled into the first row of bleachers and waited. Soon the Gryffindor team came pouring out of the locker room, all in various state of sleep deprivation. They all got onto their brooms and Harry flew over Draco and Hermione.  

“You haven’t even begun yet?” Hermione asked.

“No. Mind if I have some?” Harry asked, indicating to the toast. 

Hermione handed him the toast. He thanked her then zoomed off whilst munching on the toast. 

“Isn’t this exciting?”

Draco jumped a bit, not realizing Creevey was behind them. 

“I love this. It’s so exciting. Harry explained all the rules to me on our way here this morning!”

“You were awake when they left?”

Creevey nodded, putting his camera to his face and began clicking away. The sound was magnified in the deserted stadium. Draco noticed one of the Weasley twins heard the noise and ask Harry what was going on. Soon Wood appeared near them. The three looked over toward Creevey. Harry flushed red. The other Weasley joined them shortly and suddenly all the boys looked down at the ground.

“They’re here.”

“Who?”

“Let’s go. Nott is going to try to pick a fight,” Draco said without thinking. 

“Draco!”

Draco stood up and hurried out of the stands. He could hear Hermione following. She caught Draco’s arm as he hit the ground. 

“How do you know Nott’s on the team?” she demanded. “And why do you think he is going to cause problems?” 

Draco stared at her. He wanted to blurt out the truth, just as he had at Harry at the end of the year last year, but his voice caught in his throat and all he did was open his mouth and close it a few times. 

“There is something very off about you, Draco Malfoy.” Hermione stared at him for a moment before she gasped. “Oh, you’re right. The Slytherins are here.”

She hurried off before Draco could respond. Draco followed her to the area where the Slytherins met up with the Gryffindors.

“What’s happening?” she asked Harry, who was standing a bit off to the side, frown on his face. 

“The Slytherins are training their new Seeker and kicking us off the field,” Harry explained in a flat tone.

“Everyone has been admiring the brooms my father bought our team.”

Nott showed off his brand new broom. Harry frowned further, clutching his own broom tighter. Nott noticed and smirked.

“Good, aren’t they? Oh, but, perhaps the Gryffindor team will be able to raise some gold and get new brooms, too? You could raffle off those antiques you’re all riding. I expect a museum would bit high for them.”

The Slytherin team howled with laugher. The Weasley twins flushed bright red. Harry’s ears glowed pink. Oddly, Oliver Wood looked baffled. It was as if he could not comprehend what was going on before his very eyes. 

“At least no one had to buy their way onto the Gryffindor team!” Hermione sharply shouted. “They got in on pure talent.” 

The smug look on Nott’s face fell a moment. 

“No one asked you, you filthy, little Mudblood.” 

Draco grabbed Hermione before anyone could do anything. He thrust her behind his back and glared at Nott.

“She’s a lot more cleaner than you’ll ever be, Nott.” 

Silence fell. Draco knew that neither Hermione or Harry really knew what “mudblood” meant, but Hermione wasn’t so ignorant to not know it was an insult.

“I expected so much more from you, Malfoy. But you’re nothing but a filthy blood-traitor,” Nott spat out. 

What happened next baffled Draco for years to come. The Weasley twins lunged forward, wands out and tackled Nott to the ground. There was a loud bang and smoke filled the area around both teams. By the time it cleared, Flint had Nott behind his back and Wood had George and Fred by the scuffs of their necks. Wood looked livid with the twins. He threw them towards the locker rooms and ordered his team to follow. Harry gave Draco a look and scampered off. Draco grabbed Hermione’s hand and dragged her off the field. He did not stop dragging her till they were outside the stadium and under a tree. 

“Explain.”

“Excuse me?”

“No. Explain right now. What does ‘mudblood’ mean and why does Nott keep calling you a blood-traitor? I hate not knowing these things! I can’t find a book on the topic!”

Draco ran a hand through his hair. “Of course not. You’d need a book on blood status insults.”

“Well, I know they are insults. I can only assume ‘mudblood’ refers to the fact I’m not a pureblood.”

Each time she said the word ‘mudblood’ Draco felt something stab him in the throat.  

“You’re right. It means you have dirty blood because your parents are both Muggles,” Draco said. “I’m sure you’re aware there are families in the wizarding world who think it is best to keep magical blood within magical blood, right? Hence the pureblood?” Hermione nodded. “I explained it to Harry once by using the example of how in your world you have the Royal Family?”

He watched her face carefully. He knew she would get it faster than Harry, and really understand it. 

“Blue bloods,” she breathed. “Oh. Is that what pureblood society is like? You all marry your cousins and such to keep your blood from mixing with commoners?”

Draco nodded, feeling relief she caught on quickly. “Yes. Beside feeling our blood is better than yours, we also believe that because our blood is pure magically, we are better at magic than you are.”

“So it adds up to the fact you purebloods believe you’re better than everyone else on the planet,” Hermione concluded, frowning.

“Yes.”

“Why do you keep saying ‘we’ you don’t believe this crap, do you?”

Draco shifted. “I say _we_ because…for a long time I believed it. I did think I was better than you. I thought I was better than everyone, but then I opened my eyes. I mean, look at Neville Longbottom. He’s from a long line of purebloods and he’s hapless. He blows up cauldrons constantly.”

“I think that’s because Snape scares him to death,” Hermione said in a small voice. “So, you don’t hold— oh.”

Her eye went wide. Draco nodded, once again feeling relief she’d answered her own question. 

“So, because you no longer hold these beliefs and you associate with me, you’re a traitor to your own blood?”

Draco nodded. “Yes. And after sorting into Gryiffindor, I’m a huge blood-traitor.” He looked away from her. “It’s so backwards. We are going to inbreed ourselves out of existence.” 

Draco felt Hermione take his hand and squeeze it. He looked down at her to find her wearing a soft smile. 

“At least you’ve realized this,” she said softly. “You don’t really believe, though, if you…well, if your blood isn’t pure magical blood your magic changes?”

Draco shook his head. “No. Look at you. Is there a spell you’ve come across that you can’t master on the first try?”

“Some of those shield charms,” she muttered, remembering last year.

“Darling,” he drawled, wearing his charming smile, “those were fourth year or above spells you were having trouble with.” 

She blushed. 

“You were able to do them.”

“Did you transfigure your beetle into a button?”

“Yes, why?”

“I didn’t. Mine simply lost its legs,” he informed her as Harry approached. 

Hermione dropped his hand, turning to greet Harry. Harry looked upset and concerned. After taking in Hermione’s facial expression and it was clear she was okay, some of the negative emotions left Harry’s face. 

“Okay, explain to me right now what the hell Nott was talking about,” Harry demanded, coming to a stop. Draco glanced down at Hermione and indicated with his hand she was more than welcome to explain. Hermione launched into her explanation. Draco noticed Hagrid outside his house and nodded his head in that direction. The trio headed over to Hagrid’s. By the time Hermione finished her explanation, they’d reached Hagrid, who was standing beside some rather large pumpkins. 

“Hallo!” Hagrid greeted cheerily. “What you lot doin’ up so early?”

“Quidditch,” Harry replied, still wearing a dark expression. “Those are rather, er, large pumpkins.”

“Ah, yeah. Fer the Halloween feast. They’ll be bigger by then.”

Hagrid beamed.

“What’ve you been feeding them?” Harry asked, hanging over the fence railing around the vegetable patch.

Hagrid looked a bit uncomfortable for a moment. He glanced around before saying, “Well, I’ve bin givin’ ‘em you know…a bit ‘o help.”

Harry and Draco both raised an eyebrow. Hermione made a noise from behind them. Draco and Harry moved and she put herself between the boys. 

“An Engorgement Charm?” she asked. She sounded half amused, half disapproving. Hagrid turned red. “Well, you’ve done a marvelous job on them.”

Hagrid colored further for a whole different reason.

“That’s what Miss Black was sayin’. I saw her jus’ yesterday. She was with the little Weasley and some odd blonde girl.” Hagrid gave Harry a sideways look. “The three said they was jus’ lookn’ around, but I think one of them was hopin’ to run into you lot.”

He winked at Harry, whose ears went red.

“Well, Hagrid, it’s nearly lunch. I doubt Harry’s eaten anything other than a piece of toast,” Hermione said, clearly noting Harry’s uncomfortable shifting.

Hagrid bade them a good day and went back to tending his overly large pumpkins. Harry commented they were going to be the size of a house by Halloween. They had barely set foot in the Entrance Hall when suddenly there was a shout and the sounds of someone vomiting. 

Draco whipped his head around and noticed Weasley on the other side of the Entrance Hall, Blaise Zabini by his side, looking half amused, half annoyed. 

Weasley burped up a bunch of slugs. Draco stared at the pile of slimy, dull colored slugs laying in a heap at Weasley’s feet. He blinked several times. 

The pile was still there and Weasley threw up again, adding to the pile. 

“Honestly,” Zabini huffed, trying to tug Weasley. 

Why was Weasley vomiting slugs? It had happened last time because Draco had insulted Hermione and the Weasel had broken his wand at some point. Draco had not insulted Hermione and as far as Draco knew, the Weasel’s wand wasn’t broken. 

“What is going on here?” Professor McGonagall demanded, striding in from the Great Hall. 

“Ronald thought it’d be best to attempt to hex Nott for…his less than pleasant name calling this morning on his way to the Quidditch pitch.”

“Wand backfired,” Weasley managed, before burping slugs all over the ground again. 

Professor McGongall vanished the disgusting slug pile, but gave Weasley detention. Zabini looked annoyed at this, but continued on his way. It looked like he was draggin Weasley to the Hospital Wing. The trio watched the pair pass before Hermione said, “Looks like Nott is on a streak this morning.” 

Draco snorted his agreement. 

“Why would Nott insult a member of his own house?” Harry asked. 

“Because he’s a toe-rag git?” Draco offered. “More than likely called Wealsey a blood-traitor. Last year the one time I saw him do that to Weasley, the boy went rather red and looked like he was about to hex Nott. Weasley’s got a bit of that Gryffindor temper in his blood, even if he’s in Slytherin.”

“Just like you’ve got some Slytherin in you,” Hermione commented. “Let’s go. Even after that disgusting display, I’m hungry.”


	8. Missing In Action

**Disclaimer: If you know it, I do not own it. I do own shoes. Quite a few pairs. If you happen to see those, they are mine.**

* * *

October arrived. Draco did not realize it had arrived till he noted most of the trees on the grounds had lost their leaves. He stared at the trees one morning and pulled out his wand, casting a date charm. 

“It’s October already,” he commented, cocking his head to the side. 

“How did you miss that?” Harry asked, eyeing Draco. “The damp chill in the castle is a tell- tale sign it’s almost winter.”

Draco didn’t answer how he had  missed the arrival of October. Instead something else weighed on his mind. “We haven’t done anything with the diary.”

“Oh,” Harry breathed. “I guess we should talk to Siri. She still has it, right?”

“She hasn’t been acting strange has she?”

Harry shook his head. He grabbed his bag and hurried out of the dorm. Draco followed, the dairy quickly being pushed from his mind as he was swamped with school work. By the end of the week he’d caught the cold that was going around the castle. After sniffling for three days, Prefect Weasley of all people bullied him into taking Pepper Up potion. It didn’t clear up Draco’s nose any, just made steam pour out of his ears. 

Draco was rather amazed Harry hadn’t wound up with a cold, as Oliver Wood’s zeal for Quidditch hadn’t dampened despite the rain that pelted the castle for weeks on end. Draco was secretly glad he would never have to play Quidditch with the overzealous Wood. Wood would be long gone by the time Draco could try out for the team. 

It was an evening in mid-October when Harry showed up soaking wet and down trodden, dragging his broom. He was wearing an odd expression that did not fit his body language in the least. 

“Hey, Draco,” Harry greeted, falling into the chair next to Draco near the warm fire. 

“You just ruined that chair,” Draco commented, looking down at Harry’s wet, muddy self. 

“Huh?”

Draco cast several cleaning charms and drying charms on Harry. “What’s up?”

“Oh, er, I promised we’d go to a Deathday Party. Nearly Headless Nick invited me,” Harry said.

Draco quirked an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“It’s on Halloween,” Harry said. “Think Hermione would like to join us?”

“Sure. You know there won’t be any food and we’ll miss the feast.”

Harry suddenly frowned. “Why me?”

“You’re nice, remember? Plus, it’ll mean a lot to Nick. And Myrtle will be there,” Draco added. “Unless you want to go visit her in the toilet.”

“No. Oh, I need to feed Medusa,” Harry announced. 

Draco sighed. “We’ll do that after Halloween, okay?”

Harry agreed. 

* * *

“A Deathday party?” Hermione asked the next morning. “That might be fascinating. I’ve never had the chance to attend to a ghost party before. Have you?”

She was looking at Draco. He shook his head in the negative. He did not attend any Deathday parties in his previous seven years at Hogwarts. He wasn’t sure why anyone (save Hermione maybe) would _want_ to attend a ghost party if that person was not a ghost. 

Hermione began  to discuss the party with herself. She was having a rather lively debate on if the Slytherin ghost, the Bloody Baron, would bother to show up at a party held for the Gryffindor ghost. So far, she had convinced herself in the afterlife, House afflictions did not matter.

 Draco glanced down the table at Weaselette, who was seated alone. She frowned a few times, biting her lower lip. She seemed to be waiting for Atlanta to show up, but Atlanta never appeared. Draco frowned, wondering where Atlanta was, as she wasn’t prone to miss meals. Oversleep sometimes, yes, but not miss scheduled eating time. Draco pushed himself up off the bench and walked down to the redhead. He sat down next to her, causing her to jolt with surprise.

“Morning. Atlanta not up yet?”

“She muttered she was up when I tried to wake her before I left, but she hasn’t come down yet,” Ginny admitted. “It’s not really like her.”

“She wears herself out sometimes,” Draco replied. “She doesn’t sleep much, right?”

“True. She’s always busy with something,” Ginny admitted. “I guess I’ll go try her.”

“Take some toast.”

Ginny accepted the pile of toast and hurried out, her cheeks slightly pink. Draco stayed where he was seated, picking at the toast rack in front of him for a moment before getting up and heading back to Harry, who was now fighting with Hermione on the merits of Nick joining the Headless Hunt.  

* * *

Ginny frowned. 

Atlanta had not come down to lunch. It was not like Atlanta to miss one meal, let alone two meals in a day. Atlanta had hardly eaten any of the toast Ginny had supplied her with, mostly because McGonagall had taken it away from Atlanta when class began. 

Ginny peered down the long Gryffindor table towards the center where Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy sat. They always sat next to one another, never across from one another. She thought it was a little strange, but no one else did. Neville Longbottom usually sat across from Harry, while seat across from Draco was always left empty. Ginny had thought this was odd till she noticed that near the end of meals a girl with massive amounts of bushy brown hair would sit down. The same girl tended to randomly turn up in the Gryffindor Common room as well. 

Ginny wasn’t sure if she liked the bushy haired girl. 

Looking back at the other first years she was seated with she asked if any of them had seen Atlanta. 

“No.”

“Nope.”

“Didn’t she go to the Tower to get her notebooks? She got up really late,” Cassandra Johnson reminded Ginny. 

Frowning, Ginny figured she best go look for her friend. 

Ginny had never had a female friend her own age who was somewhat sane. She had known Luna Lovegood, who lived near the Weasleys, but Luna was…strange. She said strange things and believed in impossible things. While Ginny liked Luna well enough, she liked Atlanta because she was fun. She had a lot of energy and liked to question everything and always had interesting things to say. The random humming could get on your nerves though…and she tended to break into song when you least expected it, but other than that she was great. 

Ginny arrived in the Common Room five minutes later. She noted that a few of the upper years were all gathered around the fire place, laughing loudly at something. Shaking her head, she headed for the stairs to the girl’s dormitories. She entered the first year dormitory only to find it empty. It was clear Atlanta had ransacked her own area. Her trunk was left open, things randomly left all over the floor in her search for a notebook. It looked as if she’d torn the bed apart looking for something. 

Making a face of puzzlement, Ginny shut the door and headed back down the stairs slowly. She got to the bottom step when she noticed something half hidden under a couch that sat near the stairs. She walked over and bent down, picking up the object that was sticking out. Turning it over in her hands, she thought it looked familiar. It was a dingy, black, old diary. She opened it, wondering who had lost it. There was a name written in the front, a little smudged, but still readable. 

T. M. Riddle.

Who was that?

She flipped through the rest of the book only to find it blank. She looked at it, turning it over a few more times. There was nothing remotely interesting about it. It was from a Muggle book shop, thus had no magic properties at all. She flipped it back to the first blank page. She noted that it was dated for January 1943. 

“Huh,” Ginny muttered. She looked up at the older kids who were now gathering their things together to head off to afternoon classes. “Excuse me! Have any of you lost this notebook?”

They all turned and stared at her. Ginny flushed and allowed her hair to fall into her face. 

“You’re Percy’s sister, aren’t you?” said one of the boys, who had dark brown hair and a thick Scottish accent. He was really cute. Ginny nodded shyly. “I’m pretty sure none of us lost it.”

He gave her a smile.

“It looks old. It might have been under there for a long time and gotten kicked out when the Twins set the salamander off last night. Kind of tore around the place.”

Ginny nodded. She cleared her throat and said,  “Thanks. Oh, did you happen to see, er, Atlanta Black?”

Ginny figured everyone knew who Atlanta was due to what happened at her Sorting. From the looks on all the faces around her, Ginny had figured correctly. 

“Yeah,” the Scottish boy replied. 

He was really cute, Ginny decided. Though, not as cute as Harry Potter. The Scottish boy had plain brown eyes, just like Ginny. Harry’s eyes were…stunning. 

“She went upstairs. I didn’t see her come back down, though,” he admitted. “She not up there?”

Ginny shook her head, clutching the diary to her chest. “Well, thanks. Bye.”

Ginny scampered off. She was half way to Herbology when she realized she still had the mysterious notebook clutched to her chest. For some reason, it made her feel calmer. Ginny took her usual place at the tray she had been working on the last class and waited for Atlanta to show up. 

“Where is Miss Black?” Professor Sprout asked after the bell rang. 

The class was silent. 

“She was in Transfiguration,” Colin Creevey offered. 

“I didn’t see her at lunch,” Cassandra offered. “Did you look for her, Ginny?”

“Yes. She wasn’t in the Tower. She said she was going to go get something,” Ginny said. 

Professor Sprout frowned. “Well, maybe she was ill. Did anyone check the Hospital Wing?”

The Gryffindors all shook their heads. Professor Sprout sent Ginny off to check with Madam Pomfrey. Upon reaching the quiet Hospital Wing, Ginny had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Without needing to ask Madam Pomfrey, she knew Atlanta wasn’t there. She asked any how, and had her suspicions confirmed. Fretting, Ginny headed to Professor McGonagall’s classroom to see if she was in there. She was, in the middle of teaching something about animals. Ginny wrung her hands at the back of the room till McGonagall noticed her.

“Miss Weasley, shouldn’t you be in class?”

“May I speak to you, Professor? It’s important,” Ginny said, worried the stern professor wouldn’t take her seriously. 

McGongall frowned, then instructed the class to pair off and try the spell she’d been teaching. She motioned for Ginny to follow her to the front of the room. Ginny scampered up and stood next to the desk and waited. McGongall, satisfied the class was working, sat down at her desk and faced Ginny. 

“Well, Miss Weasley, what is so important you interrupted my class?”

Ginny took a deep breath. “I can’t find Atlanta. I haven’t seen her since we left Transfiguration before lunch. She said she was going to the tower. The tall Scottish boy…er, Oliver Wood? I think his name is Oliver Wood. He’s Percy’s age.”

“Yes, that is Mr. Wood.”

“He said he saw her go upstairs, but he never saw her come back down,” Ginny quickly said. “I checked the dormitory and it looked like she’d been there, as her area was a complete mess…but she didn’t show up for Herbology and she’s not in the Hopstial Wing. I checked. I didn’t know what to do.”

McGongall looked alarmed, but schooled her features quickly. “You did the right thing, Miss Weasley. I’ll handle this. I’m sure she is stuck somewhere or simply got lost. It happens to many first years. The castle is a tricky place.”

Ginny nodded. McGonagall instructed her to head back to class. Not knowing what else to do, Ginny headed back to Herbology. 

By the end of the day, the whole castle knew Atlanta Black was missing and had not been seen since Oliver Wood saw her run up the stairs to the girl’s first year dormitory. Ginny, worried about her friend, forgot about the diary. She was very worried about Atlanta, who still had not been found after three days. Atlanta’s parents, a scary looking older gentleman and a cold, distant looking blonde witch, had shown up on the third day. Mr. Black had been heard almost all over the seventh floor yelling at Dumbledore for loosing his youngest daughter. Mrs. Black (who Ginny remembered later didn’t like to be called Mrs. Black but rather Ms. Hilderbatch) didn’t say a word, simply stood stoically next to her husband. 

Ginny caught a glimpse of the two when they finally left Dumbledore’s office two hours later (during which Mr. Black threatened everything under the moon, loudly) and for the life of her, Ginny could not understand how Atlanta was related to either of the old people who exited. Atlanta was kind, happy and full of life. Atlanta bounced. 

Mr. Black and Ms. Hilderbatch did not look like they had bounced in their lives. Ginny was reminded of the stuffy pureblood parents who sneered at Ginny and her family. 

“I knew this was a mistake,” Mr. Black snapped at his blonde wife as he swept through the hall. “All Blacks go to Dibonien. How did I let you talk me into this?”

“This was not my idea, Altair,” the blonde woman replied coldly. “It was your idea to try to claim the Black name here in England, since the heir is in jail and the others are all dead. It was your idea to send her here. I only agreed because I thought she’d be happiest here, as she is friends with those two boys.”

Mr. Black glared at his wife. He did not say anything else, just stalked out of sight, his expensive black robes billowing. Ms. Hilderbatch sighed deeply, smoothing her already smooth hair. She slowly walked down the hall, her heels clicking on the stone. She did not look upset or bothered by the fact her daughter was missing and no one could find her. She turned the corner, then came back. Her steely blue eyes scanned the hall. Ginny, who had been hiding behind a tapestry that led to a secret passage way, let it drop. She held her breath till she heard the heel noise fade into the nothing. Letting out the breath, she felt sorry for Atlanta. 

If Ginny had gone missing, her mother would be hysterical. Ginny knew if Draco Malfoy, whose parents were cold and unfeeling in public, vanished his mother would be very upset. His father would be angry, just like Mr. Black, but his mother would show her worry in at least her usually cold blue eyes. 

Peaking out, Ginny stepped into the hallway. There was something very off about Ms. Hilderbatch. Ginny was in very deep thought when she suddenly found herself on her behind on the cold stone floor. 

“Oh! I’m sorry!” said a frantic sounding mild male voice. “I’m so sorry. Are you all right?”

Ginny looked up to find a man with greying light brown hair and very familiar looking amber eyes. He was rather lined in the face for someone as young as he appeared and he looked somewhat sickly. Like he could use a few Molly Weasley meals in his belly. 

“Oh, er, I’m fine. Sorry. I wasn’t paying attention,” Ginny admitted.

The man helped her to her feet. He seemed frantic with worry. He was about to go on his way when he stopped and really looked at her. 

“You’re Ginny Weasley, aren’t you?”

“Oh, er, yes.”

“You’re one of Atlanta’s friends?”

Ginny nodded, frowning. “Who are you?”

“Mr. Remus,” he replied. “It’s nice to meet you finally. Atlanta’s written about you in almost all her letters.”

There was something in his eyes Ginny couldn’t place when he said that statement. He closed his eyes for a moment, put a pained smile on his face and looked back at Ginny. 

“How are you holding up?”

“I’m very worried, sir,” Ginny admitted, feeling that she could tell this man anything. Atlanta spoke very highly of Mr. Remus. 

“I am as well. I cannot imagine where she went,” he said sounding distracted. 

“Me either.”

They stood in pained silence for a moment. Just when Ginny was afraid things would get more strange, the man excused himself as he had a meeting with Dumbledore. She hurried back to the Common Room, noticing her twin brothers head bowed over an old piece of parchment. Wanting to get her mind off things, she scurried over to the pair. 

“She’s not anywhere on here,” George hissed. 

“Where did she go?” Fred asked.

“This map shows everyone and she’s not here. She’s not in the castle.”

“Should we turn the map in?” 

“I don’t know.”

The pair fell silent, looking torn. 

“What is that?” Ginny asked, scaring her brothers. Fred threw himself over the piece of parchment.

“It’s nothing. Just move along, Ginny.”

“No. You’re trying to find Atlanta. What is that?”

“Nothing,” George insisted. 

“She’s really not here?” Ginny asked, tears filling her eyes. 

She knew her brothers were suckers when tears were involved and would tell her what she wanted to know. 

“Oh, Ginny,” Fred said, pulling her into his arms. “We’re sorry.”

“She’s not here. She’s gone.”

They twins exchanged looks and George pushed the old parchment towards Ginny. She looked down at it and saw it was a map of Hogwarts and it indeed showed every person in the castle. She could see herself and the twins in the Common Room. Percy and Oliver Wood were sitting on his bed in their room. Harry and Draco were oddly in the toilet on the second floor Ginny was sure was a girl’s loo. Colin Creevey was in the library. Dumbledore was pacing in his office while Remus Lupin stayed still. Luna Lovegood was in the Ravenclaw tower spinning in circles. Ron was in the dungeons with a girl named Tracey Davis and a boy named Blaise Zabini. 

“That’s the Slytherin Common Room,” Fred said quietly. “Those three are always together. Zabini isn’t as bad as some of those snakes. Not like Nott.”

Ginny nodded. She scanned the map till she thought her eyes might pop out, but she never saw anyone with the last name Black. Or first name Atlanta. 

Atlanta was in fact gone.


	9. Boarder of Clues

**Disclaimer: If you know it, I do not own it.**

* * *

Fear. 

It constricted his chest. 

Worry.

It ate at his mind. 

Anger.

It fed off his dismay and fueled his desire to act like an idiot. 

Draco thought instead, refusing to give into his steadily growing Gryffindor side. He was cunning. He planned, schemed and did not go running off into battle with nothing more than a vague idea of what was happening. Draco had goals. Draco used his brain. 

It was hard to use your brain logically when you were mad, scared and confused. No wonder Potter ran off into dangerous things without thinking. It was almost easier. 

“What are we going to do? We have to do something. It’s been three days and she’s just gone,” Harry wailed as they stood in Myrtle’s toilet, his voice echoing off the walls. 

When the pair first heard Atlanta was missing, they’d gone down to the Chamber of Secrets right away. The snake assured them no one had visited since they had last year. Draco, still not happy, made Harry help his search the whole place. They’d spent hours in the Chamber of Secrets over the past three days and found nothing of value. 

Atlanta wasn’t there.

There was a huge library filled with decrepit, rotting books, but no Atlanta. There were rooms upon rooms filled with decomposing wood, but no Atlanta. There were empty chambers filled with nothing but stale air. 

In-between searches of the Chamber, Harry and Draco attempted to get upstairs into the girl’s dormitories. McGonagall had made it clear no one was allowed to touch Atlanta’s things till the Ministry arrived, which it still had not. On day two of Atlanta missing, Harry had managed to crawl up the slide that formed when Draco attempted to go up the stairs. Harry searched Atlanta’s things, but had been unable to find the diary. He reported to Draco it was missing. For three days Draco had been unable to think up a reason why the diary would eat Atlanta. It was supposed to open the Chamber of Secrets, not cause people to vanish into thin air along with it. 

On day three, the entire school had heard Mr. Black threaten Dumbledore with everything he could and could not do. Draco was unsure how Altair Black had managed to channel his voice through the entire school without actually meaning to do it, as it was obvious he was simply very, very, very angry and not broadcasting his anger on purpose. 

Draco had heard from his mother, of course, who was upset and worried that Atlanta was gone and no one could find her. Draco had witnessed his parents sweep into the castle to discuss the matter with Dumbledore. Somehow, the story was kept out of the papers. The Malfoy family owning almost fifty percent of the _Daily Prophet_ helped. Also, Fudge was such a moron, he didn’t want it getting out that Atlanta Black was MIA. 

This wouldn’t prevent the world from finding out, though. Altair Black was going to let the world know Dumbledore had lost his daughter if it was the last thing he did. 

The smirk on Lucius Malfoy’s face when he entered Hogwarts told Draco that when Altair was ready to blow, Lucius was not going to do anything to stop him. As far as Lucius knew, Dumbledore was going to be flayed alive by the end of the year. He didn’t know the diary wasn’t not going to unleash the monster of Slytherin because the diary had vanished along with Atlanta. 

“Where could she have gone? Who would kidnap her? Who are Altair Black’s enemies?” Harry asked for the millionth time attempting to rip his hair out of his skull. 

“I doubt she was kidnapped,” Draco reminded Harry. 

Harry’s favorite theory was she’d been kidnapped by people who hated Altair Black. 

Tragically, no one hated Altair Black. He made sure of that. 

“There has been no ransom demanded and her movements have been tracked from the Transfiguration classroom to the stairs to the girl’s dorm. Wood was down there, facing the stairs and didn’t see her come down. He saw Weasley go up and down. She was the first girl to come down since Atlanta had gone up.”

Harry deflated.

“Where did she go?”

“Dumbledore knows,” Draco said in a low tone. 

Draco knew Dumbledore knew exactly where she was at the moment. He wasn’t sharing her actual location with anyone, but Dumbledore knew Atlanta was safe. It was the only explanation to why he wasn’t more worried. 

“Let’s be mental. Let’s entertain insane, unbelievable ideas,” Draco suggested, simply trying to get Harry to calm down. 

“Good thinking.”

Harry and Draco both jumped. That voice did not belong to Myrtle. It was a dreamy, airy sounding voice. A girl walked out of one of the stalls. She had long dirty blonde hair that was in two braids down her back. She was in Ravenclaw robes and her silvery blue eyes stuck out and she had a look of airy surprise on her face. 

“You have all the clues, Draco,” the girl said, washing her hands. “They are littered over time, in the past and future. Don’t let the Nargles eat them, though. Wear a hat.”

She gave them a dreamy smile and drifted out of the bathroom. The word “hat” echoed around Draco’s head. 

“Huh?” Harry asked, looking like he’d just remembered to breathe. 

Draco would have brushed off whatever the crazy blonde had said, but then he remembered who the crazy blonde happened to be: Luna Lovegood. 

Draco didn’t know her very well. He knew she was a bit mad and was one of Potter’s friends. Atlanta the First had also mentioned her in the letter. 

Luna would help. 

She’d helped him. He simply had to look into what she was saying. 

“I have the clues.” 

Harry looked at Draco as if Draco was the one heading to the mental hospital. 

Draco went over what the Hat had said to him. 

Draco had changed the timeline all the way back to 1943. 

The Hat had told Atlanta he didn’t want to sort her. 

Again. That was key: again. The Hat had already sorted Atlanta. 

“Harry?”

“Yes, Insane One?”

Draco quirked an eyebrow at Harry. “Insane One?”

Harry shrugged. “Well, what?”

“I think Atlanta time traveled,” Draco said quietly. 

“How? The diary?”

“No clue. But, it makes sense.”

“Where did she go?”

“1943,” Draco announced. 

Something else clicked for Harry. Harry’s face suddenly lit up. 

“The diary is from 1943! Is that what it does? Makes you travel through time?” Harry asked, bemused expression on his face. “It makes more sense than it simply ate her.” 

“No.” Draco frowned. “The diary is supposed to open the Chamber of Secrets. How the hell do you time travel through a book?”

Harry gave Draco a look clearly stating that Draco was the all knowing pureblood in the room and ought to know magic could make you travel through time via a book. Draco and Atlanta had told Harry all about all the strange and seemingly impossible things magical books could do, so why not time travel?

“True. Why not time travel?” Draco asked faintly. “She took the book with her. I guess she could use the book to get back, right?”

“Other than that—”

Harry never finished talking, as the door opened and Ginny Weasley began screaming.

“BOYS! BOYS IN THE GIRL’S LOO!”

Harry and Draco quickly dashed out of the bathroom, pelting for the Gryffindor Tower. 

* * *

In the following days, Dumbledore assured the students all was being done to find Atlanta. Draco had seen formal looking Ministry people entering the school. A few of them were poking around the tower, doing strange tests, poking things with their wands and asking Oliver Wood a million questions. By the time Halloween rolled around, the Ministry people had gone. The school population was also talking less about Atlanta’s disappearance, as it appeared since Dumbledore was not worried, no one else saw the need to worry. Draco had a feeling Dumbledore, in his all-knowing-ness, knew when Atlanta would return from her jaunt to the past. 

That still did not reassure Draco. 

Draco was lost in thought when he ran into Remus Lupin leaving the headmaster’s office the day before the Halloween feast. Lupin also seemed to be lost in thought and didn’t so much as mutter an apology for ramming into Draco.  

“Mr. Remus?” Draco called out, flagging the werewolf down. “Does Dumbledore know anything?”

Lupin stared at Draco for a beat. “Yes. He assured me where she’s gone she’s…all right. And she will be back. At some point.”

“So, he does know where she has gone?”

Lupin looked around. Draco could tell the man was having an internal debate. Finally, Lupin reached out and took Draco’s shoulder, steering him into a nearby classroom. He shut the door and waved his wand. 

“The Headmaster asked me not to tell anyone, but he’s told Atlanta’s parents as well as myself exactly where she went and she is okay. She has accidentally traveled back in time to the year 1943. She’s enrolled in her first year there and she will complete her first year in 1943. She passes with flying colors, evidently.”

Draco frowned. “Are you serious?”

Lupin made a face that looked like he wanted to say something, but he stopped himself.

“Yes.”

“How is he going to get her back?”

“She will be sent back to us,” was all Lupin was willing to share.  

Lupin left, not wanting to answer any more of Draco’s questions. He looked to be in serious pain. Draco could understand, as Lupin was aware he was Atlanta’s father. He startled as he thought this. From Draco’s understanding, it had been a shock for Lupin to find out the first time, but from his manner, Lupin knew already. Draco wondered how Lupin knew. Or why he knew this time around. 

Sighing, Draco headed out of the classroom. As he ambled along, he spotted Harry trudging inside from another rain soaked Quidditch practice. Upon spotting Harry, Draco felt something cold trickle down his spine. 

Harry.

Harry Potter.

The Boy-Who-Saves-the-Day.

Boy Wonder.

The Idiot Who Always Does Stupid Things Beyond the Realm of Possible. 

In a span of a few second, Draco hurtled through all the crazy, almost impossible things Potter had done over his six years of attendance at Hogwarts. The troll, the Stone, whatever he’d done second year that took the diary out, fighting off Dementors, youngest Tri-Wizard champion, dueling the Dark Lord at fourteen, battling over ten Death Eaters at fifteen…attempting to take out the Dark Lord at seventeen. 

Potter never asked for help beyond his friends. The adults were almost always useless and seemingly worked against Potter. 

Draco had vital information. Atlanta was in 1943. She was at Hogwarts. He had where and when. 

Time travel.

Who says it wasn’t Draco and Harry who brought Atlanta back to the present? It was something insane, unthinkable and very Potter like. 

Time travel. 

The book. Atlanta the First suggested a book on time travel. 

Draco could get it this year. He knew someone who would sign anything. 

“What are you pondering?” Harry asked, dripping in front of Draco. Harry looked worried and like he hadn’t been sleeping. Draco knew that while Harry wasn’t as close to Atlanta as he was to Draco, he still cared. And when Harry cared, he did not do it half way. He also happened to be Harry Potter, so he cared easily and often. But, there was a type of caring he reserved for his closest friends, and after the summer, Atlanta clearly fell into this category. 

“We’re going to get her back,” Draco said, grabbing Harry’s arm and pulling him close to his side, ignoring the fact he was getting himself wet. “Lupin just told me Dumbledore believes she went back in time, to exactly the year I thought she went to. We’re going to get her back. But first, we need access to the Restricted Section.”

“Don’t you need a teacher to sign a slip asking for the book you want?”

“Yes. Know a teacher who’ll sign something without looking?”

Harry snorted. “Yes.”

Together they said, “Lockhart.” 

* * *

 _A/N: If you’d like to read about Atlanta’s trip to the past, see_ Shattered _, a collection of one-shots that follow her time in the past._


	10. Time. I Hate Time.

**Disclaimer: If you know it, I don’t own it.**

* * *

Hermione loved her best friends. She really did. She did not even mind breaking rules for them, as it lead them to being closer. Granted, she could have done without the battle with a professor and his possessed head, but she was dealing. And she would be a monster if she wasn’t concerned the girl both Harry and Draco knew had mysteriously vanished from school without a trace. And while she wanted to help and as much as she wanted to gain more knowledge, there was simply something WRONG about what the boys were requesting. 

“He loves to sign things,” Harry assured her. “I doubt he’ll even read what book we want.”

“Plus, I doubt it’s a dangerous book,” Draco added, tossing his hair out of his eyes. Draco had a habit of forgetting to get haircuts and his hair wound up forever in his rain cloud colored eyes. 

Draco was much more scruffy this year than last year. It was almost as if he was attempting to make himself look…less polished. It was absurd, as he carried himself too smoothly and gracefully to not be polished and refined, despite his lack of proper hair, untucked shirt tails and sloppily tied tie. 

Both her boys were disasters, only she felt Draco was on purpose and Harry was simply that way naturally. 

Hermione reached out, snatching the paper they’d written the book they wanted. 

“ _Time Traveling Souls_?”

What an odd book title…It sounded like a fantasy novel title, not a book that would live in the Restricted Section of the Hogwarts library. 

“Yes. I’m not sure why it’s in the Restricted Section,” Draco said. 

There was an odd glint in his eyes Hermione did not like. It was the glint that tended to appear when he was onto something. It was similar to the glint Harry got when he was going off to find danger. 

Harry was the hero who failed to think, while Draco was the behind the scenes sidekick who did most of the plotting. 

Hermione wasn’t sure what her role was in their trio. While she was smart, she knew her smarts were born out of books and cleverness. She was not brave like Harry, or sly like Draco. There were times, also, she thought Draco was brighter than she was. He _knew_ way too much magic. He _knew_ a lot for a twelve-year-old. 

He also seemed…old. 

Then again, there were times Harry seemed old as well, but Harry had a difficult life. Draco was a pampered prince. They were at complete opposite ends of the spectrum, yet they were next to inseparable and sometimes reminded her of little adults. 

Well, till Harry went and did something completely mental…like going down to talk to a basilisk and becoming its friend.

Hermione read the title of the book the boys wanted again, thinking about what she knew about time travel. Yet another thing she thought did not exist before entering the wizarding world. 

“Most time travel books are in the Restricted Section for good reason. Time travel is dangerous. Why do you need a time traveling book?”

She was not getting this book for them unless they answered her. Harry glanced up at Draco. Hermione marveled at the difference in their heights. Draco seemed to get taller and taller, while Harry remained stubbornly short. Soon she was going to be taller than Harry. 

“Atlanta traveled back in time to 1943. We need to get her back.”

“What?” Hermione asked. “Why do _we_ have to get her back? Shouldn’t that be the job of the Ministry or at least Dumbledore’s?”

Draco frowned. Harry scoffed. 

“Dumbledore seems to think she will turn up,” Harry offered, clearly not believing the child would simply “turn up.” 

“I doubt anyone told the Ministry where she went. If they did, they’d never let her out of the Department of Mysteries. That is where all time travelers who are not sanctioned by the Ministry end up. For life. Altair Black will never allow that, so I assume they are going with the randomly missing/kidnapped philosophy,” Draco explained, looking as if this had just occurred to him for the first time. 

“But, Dumbledore knows she time traveled?”

Hermione found this highly unlikely, but there was still so much of the inner workings of the wizarding world she did not know yet. There was so much to know. Sometimes she felt like she was living on an alien planet and didn’t know the language. It was very frustrating. 

The boys nodded in unison, wearing identical, wide-eyed expressions. Hermione was sure they had worked on that expression over the summer together. 

“Fine.”

She knew she’d give into them. She always did. Even when they had not requested her help, she for some unknown reason wound up helping out. Like that blasted book that had attacked her at the bookstore last winter. A wizarding book in a muggle bookstore? But, for some reason, Hermione knew that strange things happened for unknown or unexplainable reasons in the wizarding world. Logic was not their strong suit. 

* * *

Getting Lockhart to sign the piece of parchment was laughable at best. Harry and Draco waited outside the door to Lockhart’s classroom when Hermione went in to get his signature the afternoon before the Halloween feast. Lockhart made a lot of noise about the decorations and how he had helped out so much. Per Lockhart, he had charmed the pumpkins, the candles and bats to do something amazing. Draco could tell by Hermione’s gushing she had a raging crush on the blockhead. For a girl who was so clever, Draco could not figure out why she didn’t see Lockhart for what he was: a fraud. The man couldn’t perform a _Lumos_ charm to save his life. 

Hermione came out of the classroom with a dreamy look on her face and was reluctant to hand over the signed note to the librarian, Madam Pince. The older woman sneered at the trio, but gave them the requested book. Once outside the library, Hermione thrust the book to Draco, who took it.

It was a very old book. He carefully opened it up, waiting for it to do something. He half expected it to suck him into it and spit him out somewhere else, but all that happened was a note fluttered to the floor. Harry bent over and picked it up.

“‘Congrats, _Draak_! I hope some of these spells will help, or something, as I’m totally over 1943. The boy who I landed on is an insane psychopath. Cheers, Siri,’” Harry read, then knitted his eyebrows together. “There’s another note written, in a slightly different handwriting.”

Draco grabbed it, heart hammering. His eyes stared at the sheet of paper. It was indeed Muggle paper, ripped out of something. The scrap of paper was very yellow and brittle. The top note was written a long time ago and  in what was clearly a quill. The bottom part, though, was written in what Draco recognized as Muggle pen ink and was newer. There was no date in the second note, but Draco knew by the name at the bottom who had written it. 

Both were written by Atlanta. The top by the eleven year old, the bottom by the seventeen year old one who was now dead. Gulping, Draco read the second note: 

_Hmmm…it seems like I have a habit of time traveling. This guy’s theory on time is right. Page 127. Oh, and “I” should reappear at some point. I’m sending her to you, Viggiatrice, so be prepared for a bright light._

_-Adrasteia_

Draco looked up, feeling sick. Hermione snatched the paper.

“Who is this the time traveller?”

Harry stared at Draco. Draco stared at Harry. Neither said a word. Hermione looked outraged and disbelieving.

“Is that what that means?” Draco asked faintly. 

Hermione eyed Draco and nodded, reading the note again.

“Adrasteia. It means to not run away and it’s also another name for the Greek goddess Nemesis, the goddess of vengeance and justice?” Hermione said. 

Draco nodded, finally understanding. He almost wanted to laugh bitterly how code named fit her so well.  

“She was…always standing up for the less fortunate. She hated bullies. It was a trait I didn’t appreciate too much when—”

“Er, Draco, you never call Atlanta Adrasteia,” Harry said quietly, looking concerned for Draco’s mental health. “Her only nickname is Siri.”  

Hermione was quiet, but her eyes were scanning Draco’s face. “Adrasteia isn’t Atlanta. That letter from your dead friend that you’re always carrying around that paper for…that was from this Adrasteia person, right?”

Draco nodded, carefully guarding his face. He knew both Hermione and Harry knew he was keeping something from them. Harry frowned, looking massively confused. Hermione, though, looked calculating. 

“Yes. I…”

“Wait,” Harry said, frowning. “I’m confused.”

“Time travel is confusing,” Hermione responded in a dead tone. “That is why it is illegal. No one is allowed to change time. No one.”

Hermione snatched the note from Draco, scowling at it. Harry still appeared bewildered. 

“So, where is Atlanta?”

“In 1943,” Draco answered. “We already knew that, though.”

“And she’ll be back?”

“According to Addy, yeah, she’ll be back,” Draco said. The shorted nickname tasted bitter on his tongue. 

“Who is Addy?”

“Short for Adrasteia,” Hermione said briskly. 

Draco placed a hand on the stone wall to steady himself. He was hit with a wave of emotion so strong, he wasn’t sure where it came from. He had known for over a year Atlanta the First was dead. He had technically known since he was little, but the confirmation of that letter sealed it for him. It had made it real, yet with everything else going on, he had not dealt with it. Plus, he had a different Atlanta. He could tell himself they were the same person. 

They were not. The note Hermione was scowling at right now was clear evidence the two were different. The handwriting, the nicknames, the way they both wrote…there were so many difference in Atlanta from her prior version. Atlanta the First existing in the late seventies and mixing with who ever she mixed with had set in motion so many personal changes. 

And she was now dead. 

Atlanta the First, Atlanta Siria Black, who had spent the last years of her life as Atlanta Dorothy Black was dead. 

She was still trying to help him, though. She had sent him this book, written him a note, was planning on helping the other version of herself. Even from the grave, she was still trying to save people, bring justice to the world, right wrongs. 

“Draco, is there something you want to tell us?” Hermione asked, giving Draco a look. Draco gulped. 

“He told me last summer after we fought Quirrellmort that he was a time traveller,” Harry quipped. “Think that’s true?”

Hermione stared at Harry as if he had two heads, then looked at Draco. Draco gave an uncomfortable laugh that broke as his voice hit it’s limit. She silently handed Draco the note from the book, which he tucked back into the book. Harry looked at his watch and noticed it was almost time for Nick’s Deathday party. 

“Guess we should change? Or should we just wear our robes?”

Harry looked down at his school robes. He hadn’t tied his tie properly and the collar of his white shirt was rumpled. It fit with the state of his hair. He looked back up at Hermione and Draco, who removed his hand from the wall and straighten his own tie. He fixed his shirt collar and pulled his sweater vest straight. Hermione watched this with an odd expression of her face.  He finally buttoned up the front of his outer robe and fixed its collar. 

“Are you done primping?” Hermione asked.

“No.”

Draco ran his fingers through his hair, swept his too long fringe over till it stayed across his forehead and tucked it behind his ear. He patted the rest of his messy hair down and then nodded. Hermione looked slightly amused. 

“Let’s go. It should be interesting,” she said, hooking her arm through Draco’s. 

Draco blinked a few times. He was honestly surprised the subject matter of him being a time traveler had been dropped so easily. Tucking the book under his arm, he allowed Hermione to steer him down the hall. To fill the silence, Harry and Hermione debated what a Deathday party entailed. 

Draco stared at the cover of the book before tucked it into his school bag. He had a weird feeling. What would happen when two different versions of Atlanta met? And how long was it till Hermione figured him out? For some unknown reason, Harry’s thick head refused to believe the fact Draco was indeed a time traveler. Hermione was on her way to figuring out all the puzzle pieces. 

As they neared the stairs to the dungeons, Draco decided he’d hold his silence till Hermione figured it out herself. If she confronted him, he would not deny it. Hell, it’d be nice to have someone else know. And this version of Hermione seemed to not be as anal about the school rules as the other version Draco had known. Oddly enough. 


	11. Deathday Petrification

**Disclaimer: If you know it, it is from _Chamber of Secrets_ by JK Rowling and I don’t own it. **

* * *

“And whose great idea was it to skip the feast and come to a ghost party?” Draco drawled, nose scrunching up at the putrid smells issuing from the table of “food.” 

“Oh, hush,” Hermione reprimanded. 

Draco, scowling, backed up from the table of rotten food and gazed around the chamber again. It was freezing cold and eerily lit by jet-black tapers that issued a bright blue light. The blue light was ghostly and made the ghosts in the room brighter and a bit more life like. The chamber was filled with what the ghosts thought was music. It sounded more like thousands of fingernails scraping against a blackboard. Draco wanted to rip his ears off, seal his nose and dive into a fire. 

It was arctic in the room. Normally he would have been slightly self conscious about Hermione clinging to his arm, but he was gladly taking her body heat as she was his more than likely. 

“Hello boys,” cooed a voice from behind the trio. 

The three turned around to find Myrtle. She swooped down, sticking her ghostly face inches away from Draco’s nose. Hermione jumped away from him as if she’d gotten shocked. He tried hard not to back up and thus offend Myrtle, but he wanted to leap just as Hermione had. While this Myrtle had never heard him pour his heart out and cry, he still held a soft spot for the teenage ghost. And like the other Myrtle he’d known, this one liked him. 

Though, he felt she liked Harry better. 

“Good evening, Myrtle,” Draco greeted.

“Er, hi, Myrtle,” Harry said. Myrtle batted her eyelashes at Harry. 

“How do you two know Moaning Myrtle?” a nearby ghost asked.

Myrtle hissed at ghost, looking threatening. The ghost backed up a bit. 

“We’re on rather good terms,” Draco said. “It’s lovely to see you out and about, Myrtle.”

“Yes,” Myrtle simpered. “Won’t you boys visit me, though? I get awful lonely.” 

Harry made a hacking coughing noise. This was either from the rotten food or because he was trying not to laugh. Hermione was investigating the rotten food while holding her nose. Myrtle continued to chat Draco up, shooting flirty looks at the hacking Harry every now and then. 

“I feel ill,” Harry said under his breath a half hour later. “And I have nothing in my stomach.”

“Well, you’re the one who agreed to come to a Deathday party,” Draco murmured out of the side of his mouth while Myrtle was explaining her latest reason for flooding the bathrooms. Turned out a first year had taken to hanging out in her bathroom and Myrtle did not like this first year at all. She stopped mid story, though, turning suddenly towards the outer wall of the room. 

“Oooo! The Headless Hunt are here!” Myrtle cooed, clapping her hands together. 

Bursting through the walls of the dungeons came a pack of horses, which galloped to the dance floor. The lead ghost blew a horn and lifted his head high into the air, tossing it back and forth between others with him. Soon other other heads were removed and thrown around. The crowed laughed. The lead ghost leapt off his horse and strode over to Nearly Headless Nick, who was standing in the front of the room looking put out.

“Nick! How are you! Head still hanging in there?”

The man gave Nick a sounding thump, which caused Nick’s head to wobble. 

“Welcome, Sir Patrick,” Nick said, sounding rather stiff. He straightened his head and scowled. 

Sir Patrick put his own head back on his body, then gave a fake jump of astonishment and shouted, “Live ‘uns!”

His head wobbled and fell to the floor, rolling towards Harry, Hermione and Draco. Harry was fighting a loosing battle not to grin and laugh along with the rest of the crowd. Draco, while he did find it amusing, could see Nick was less than pleased. It was only polite as Nick’s guest to not encourage Sir Patrick’s behavior. 

“Very amusing,” Nick ground out. 

“Don’t mind Nick!” Sir Patrick’s head shouted up at them. “Still upset we won’t let him join the Hunt! I mean, look at the fellow.”

“I think, Nick’s, er, very frightening,” Harry said, looking torn. 

“I don’t find you frightening in the least,” Draco replied to the head his feet. “You are going for comedy, so why not allow Nick to join you? You are getting enjoyment out of the fact he is not fully headless.”

Draco looked up and noticed Nick looked torn between being upset, offended and pleased. Sir Patrick’s head snorted and he began to say something else to Draco, but Nick loudly announced, “If I could have everyone’s attention! It’s time for my speech!”

Nick began his speech. 

Or attempted to. Sir Patrick and the Headless Hunt began to toss their heads around and the crowd of guests all took to watching them instead of paying attention to the guest of honor. After several failed attempts to get his guests’ attention, Nick gave up and drifted off through the wall.

“I feel bad for him,” Hermione said, frowning. “These ghosts are all rather rude.”

“I’m starving,” Harry moaned.

“My ears will bleed in moments,” Draco added.

“Let’s go,” Harry grumbled.

The trio made for the door without anyone noticing them. 

“I bet we can make the tail end of the feast,” Hermione said, glancing at her watch. 

Harry didn’t answer. In fact, Harry was not walking with them. Draco and Hermione stopped and turned around. Harry was frozen in the center of the dimly light hallway, a look of terror on his face.

“Do you hear that?”

Harry’s eyes darted around, looking for something. 

“Hear what?” Hermione asked, looking concerned.

Harry rushed over to the wall and pressed his ear to the stone. 

“Harry?” Draco asked. “Do you hear voices?”

“Yes. Well, a voice.” 

He pressed his ear further to the wall. 

“And what is this voice saying?”

“Someone woke up Medusa. She’s in the pipes, warning me about someone getting to the Chamber that wasn’t me. Or you.”

“Warning you of what?” Draco asked, dread filling him. 

The Diary of Doom was gone. How could the Chamber open and how as Medusa awake if she was under Harry’s control? 

Harry hissed at the wall and frowned. He pressed his ear to it again, listening hard. Hermione looked between the two boys, clearly knowing something was wrong and she was missing a puzzle piece. Draco and Harry hadn’t filled her in on the diary, especially since Atlanta had gone missing. There was no point, since the Evil Diary was gone. 

“She said she didn’t see who it was and she ignored them because the person had no claim at all to her. The person was…pure mixed with impure that was familiar, but was rude and spoke to her as if she were…a beast. Like the last heir.”

Draco chose not to point out the snake was a beast. It was a deadly snake beast. It killed people. 

And who had the diary? The only clue was they were rude and smelled pure mixed with impure. Whatever that meant. 

Harry pushed away from the wall. He looked upset, frantic. He hurried passed Draco and Hermione, running for the stairs. He burst into the Entrance Hall and hurried across it, by passing the Great Hall. Draco gazed in longingly. It was all brightly lit and warm looking. And filled with food. Oh, glorious food. 

“Draco!” Hermione hissed. “What is going on?”

“Someone tried to wake up Harry’s pet snake. The one we found last year?”

Hermione paled, rushing up the stairs behind Harry. Draco followed. Harry was already sprinting towards the girl’s bathroom by the time Draco and Hermione were up the stairs. 

“Harry!” Hermione called. “Wait up!” 

Harry pelted up yet another set of stairs and hurtled around the corner out of sight quickly. Hermione and Draco continued running till they joined Harry in the deserted corridor. Hermione came to a halt, gasping. 

“No,” Draco stated blankly at the sight that met his eyes.  

Draco stopped a few paces behind her, a feeling a dread filling every pore. Hermione slowly walked till she stood next to Harry, who stood in front of a wall staring unbelievingly at the message written in red foot-high letters. Draco forced his feet to move till he stood on Hermione’s other side, staring at the message and frozen cat dangling by its tail. 

It was exactly like the first time. 

Only, this time the snake wasn’t the reason for the petrification, having refused to work for who ever had gotten into the Chamber. 

Draco stared at the red shimmering letters. The flames from the torches on either side made the red letters look like blood. The way they dripped down also helped. 

“‘The Chamber of Secrets has been open. Enemies of the Heir, beware,’” Harry read. “Who thinks they are the Heir?”

Draco shrugged. 

This could not be happening. 

The Diary of Malicious Intent as GONE. 

“Is that Mrs. Norris?” Hermione asked, staring at the cat. 

“We should get out of here,” Harry suggested. “I’ll talk to Medusa tomorrow. I told her to stay in the pipes and away from the Chamber till I can speak to her.” 

Draco closed his eyes, knowing the feast was over and their moment to scurry along was gone. A rumble like distant thunder sounded. The reverberation of the students all leaving filled Draco’s ears, pounding and glueing him in place. From either end of the corridor came the sound of hundreds of feet. Loud, happy talk of well fed people filled the air and got closer by the second. By the time Draco reopened his eyes, the trio had company on both sides. 

The noise died as soon as the students saw the message and cat. And, like they were guilty, Harry, Hermione and Draco stood dumbly at the scene of the crime. Harry shrunk into himself for a moment, looking uneasy. He took a few steps closer to Draco and attempted to hide. 

“Enemies of the Heir, beware! You’ll be next Mudbloods!”

Draco felt like someone had dumped ice down his back as Pansy Parkinson’s voice rose above the hushed noise of the crowd. He glanced over at her. Her face was alive with gratification. She sneered gleefully at Hermione, who took a step closer to Draco.

Why did both his friends think _he_ was going to protect them? Was it because he was so tall? 

“What’s going on here? What’s going on?”

The crowd parted and Filch appeared. He looked like he was going to shout about the puddles of water on the floor, but then he noticed his cat and began screeching. High pitched shrieks filled the air. His eyes fell on Harry (who further stepped behind Draco) and he began to shout about murdering his cat. 

This snapped Harry out of Hide Behind the Tall One mode. 

“I never murdered your cat! I wouldn’t do that!” Harry shouted, standing up tall and moving to stand in front of Draco.  

“YOU KILLED HER! MURDER!”

“Argus!”

Dumbledore swept through the students with a crew of teachers following in his wake. In seconds, Dumbledore was standing in front of Draco, Hermione and Harry. He quickly detached Mrs. Norris from the ceiling. He studied the frozen stiff cat for a moment. The other teachers all exchanged glances. Snape moved till he was in the front of the crowd and glanced at Draco in distain before standing next to Dumbledore. The pair locked eyes and Dumbledore nodded. 

“Come with me, Argus. You too, Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Potter and Miss Granger.”

Lockhart appeared out of thin air, looking eager. There was an unnatural shine to his eyes. 

“My office is the closest, just up the stairs!” 

“Thank you, Gilderoy,” Dumbledore said. 

The silent crowd parted and allowed the group through. Harry hung his head and trailed after the headmaster, Draco and Hermione falling in step behind him. Draco could feel all the eyes on him and the whispers breaking out as soon as the group passed. By the time they were trekking up the stairs, the left behind teachers were all ordering the prefects to usher their houses back to their Common Rooms. 

Lockhart led the way to his office, chattering on inanely the entire way. He was simply full of suggestions. None of which were related to the current predicament. 

Lockhart opened the door to his office with a flourish. Dumbledore stepped aside and indicated Harry should enter first. He continued to wait so Draco followed after Harry. There was a flurry of movement across the walls as Draco entered. Frowning Draco, tried to figure out what was making the noise. When Lockhart began to light candles, Draco notice the office was plastered with pictures of Lockhart— all whom were wearing rollers and hair nets. 

Why were pictures wearing rollers and hair nets? Draco watched the images of Lockhart all run out of frame in various states of disarray. Some were in pajamas, others were still wearing what robes Lockhart had been wearing in the photo, but all had hair nets and rollers in. 

Harry was attempting to hold in a snort as he watched the images of Lockhart all dodging out of sight. Hermione had her eyes glued to the ground as if the answer to life itself was plastered there. Her cheeks were blooming with pink. 

Draco frowned.

Dumbledore entered the office followed by Filch, Snape and McGonagall, who shut the door behind her. None of the professors or the hysterical Filch noticed the behavior of Lockhart’s artwork. 

“Sit,” McGonagall ordered the three students. 

Lockhart had several over the top purple chairs. Draco sunk down into one while Dumbledore laid Mrs. Norris on the highly polished, reflective surface of Lockhart’s desk. Dumbledore leaned over till the tip of his long, crooked nose was only an inch away from Mrs. Norris. He peered at the cat though his half-moon glasses, his long finger gently prodding and poking the stiff cat. McGonagall was bent just as close to the ugly cat, her eyes narrowed behind her square glasses. Snape chose to perch behind them, in a corner of the room hidden in the shadows. Draco’s eyes kept going to Snape, who was looking like he was trying really hard not to smile while he stared holes into Harry’s head. His black eyes were dancing in the candlelight. They were the only thing Draco could make out in the shadows Snape had chosen to hide himself in. 

“It was definitely a cruse that killed her— probably the Transmogrifian Torture,” Lockhart was busy suggesting while he hovered around the pair at the desk like an annoying fly. “I’ve seen it many times. So unlucky I wasn’t there. I know the counter curse. Could have saved her.”

Filch, meanwhile, was still sobbing his eyes out in dry, racking sobs. Harry kept looking over at Filch, a frown on his face. He shifted a bit, gulping as he turned his attention back to Dumbledore. Hermione knotted her hands in her lap and was still staring at the ground. 

“I remember something very similar happening in Ouagadogou,” Lockhart went on, though Draco was sure no one was paying him any attention. “The full story is in my autobiography. I was able to provide the townsfolk with various amulets. Cleared up the matter at once!”

Draco glanced around the office as he heard the clatter of shoes. The photos of Lockhart had returned, hair all perfectly wavy and shiny again. Hermione looked up at the sound and suddenly the ground no longer held her interest. 

Draco frowned again. 

Dumbledore was muttering strange words under his breath and prodding Mrs. Norris with his wand, none of the teachers noticing the return of Lockhart’s Brigade of Yellow Haired Yes Men. As Lockhart continued to prattle on, his photographs all began nodding in agreement with whatever he was saying, all wearing that annoyingly bright smile. 

“She’s not dead, Argus,” Dumbledore announced.

Lockhart stopped speaking in the middle of his story about some murder he prevented. Snape stepped forward into the light, frowning deeply. Clearly, Christmas was cancelled. 

“Not dead?” choked Filch. His beady eyes appeared between his fingers. He lowered his hands, a look of outrage on his face. “Then why is as hard as a rock?”

“She’s been Petrified,” Dumbledore calmly proclaimed. 

“Ah! I thought so!” Lockhart announced. 

“I cannot say how,” Dumbledore concluded, looking right at Harry. 

Draco balled his fists. Dumbledore must know HOW. He was at the school fifty years ago when the Chamber was opened the first time. There weren’t a lot of things in the world that could Petrify people like that. Hell, if Harry wasn’t best friends with the snake, Draco would know how the cat got petrified. 

Draco was sure, judging by the intense stare Dumbledore was giving Harry, he had an idea how the cat had gotten Petrified. He might even know Harry was friends with the snake, if the gaze was anything to go by. 

“Ask him!” Filch shouted, thrusting a finger at Harry. 

“No second year could have done this,” Dumbledore said, taking his eyes off Harry for a moment to stare at Draco. “It would take Dark Magic of the most advanced—”

There were spells, Dark spells, that could mimic the damage a Basilisk did. Draco wanted to smack himself upside the head. If it wasn’t the snake, it had to have been Dark magic. And of course, Dumbledore might have known who had opened the Chamber last time around, but there would not be any way it could be reopened by the same person.

Wait a second…who was at Hogwarts fifty years ago who opened the Chamber? The Chamber could only be opened by someone who spoke Parseltounge. The only known speakers in nearly hundreds of years were Harry and Voldemort.

Draco’s eyes went large and he locked eyes with Dumbledore who gave an imperceptible nod. 

Draco had no idea how old Voldemort was, but he could have been at Hogwarts fifty years ago. He reveled the fact he was a Parseltounge and used his connections to the House of Slytherin to further support for his movement. Voldemort was also REALLY pissed off when he’d found out the diary was destroyed. Like more pissed off it had simply been a tool belonging to someone else. 

He was so mad because it was personal. 

Draco sat back on the chair, causing it to scratch across the floor. Why had he failed to put that together before? 

“He did it! He did it!” Filch insisted. “You saw what he wrote on the wall!”

Voldemort was the Heir of Slytherin. 

The diary was _his_ diary. Did that mean…did that mean he was T.M. Riddle? Or was T.M. Riddle just the owner of the stolen book Snake Face chose to use to conceal his thoughts? 

“I never wrote on the wall or touched Mrs. Norris,” Harry insisted. “I—”

Harry stopped speaking, staring between the three professors in front of him. Draco was still wheeling from his realization. 

Voldemort was the Heir of Slytherin. Voldemort had charmed that diary to open the Chamber of Secrets. More than likely by possessing the person who used the diary. Voldemort could BE T.M. Riddle. Draco wasn’t aware Voldemort had a first name. He doubted his first name was _Lord_. 

The diary was clearly still at Hogwarts and hadn’t traveled into the passed with Atlanta. Draco’s eyes went wide yet again as he realized something: Atlanta had traveled fifty years into the passed. She was at Hogwarts. She was going to be at school during the first opening of the Chamber of Secrets! 

What if she had landed right in the lap of T.M. Riddle also known as Lord Voldemort? 

“If I might speak, Headmaster?” Snape asked, stepping out of his corner. Harry shrank back into his chair a bit.

Draco felt frantic. Atlanta wasn’t safe if she was at school at the same time as Snake Face! Man, it was odd picturing Voldemort as a student. Mostly because if he always looked like a snake…he’d kind of stick out. Hopefully that would tip her off, the Snake faced teenager. 

“Potter and his friends may have simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time,” Snape offered, a slight sneer on his lips. “But we do have a set of suspicious circumstances. Why was he in the upstairs corridor at all? Why wasn’t he at the Halloween feast?”

“We were at a Deathday party,” Hermione loudly announced. 

Snape stared at her blankly. 

Wait, didn’t Hermione say something last year about thinking _Voldemort_ was a made up name? What if T.M. Riddle made that name up because…he wanted a nickname or something? 

“And why not go to the feast afterwards? Ghost parties aren’t known for their editable food,” Snape went on, black eyes glittering. 

“Myrtle!” Draco suddenly shouted. 

Voldemort had killed Myrtle with the snake fifty years ago. Myrtle told Draco last year she had heard a boy hissing and then she died. 

Why hadn’t he put it together before? 

Voldemort was the Heir of Slytherin! 

Hell, he loved snakes so much, he looked like one for crying out loud. 

Voldemort was actually T.M. Riddle! 

Draco really wanted to bang his head against the desk in front of him. 

Hermione put her hand on Draco’s arm, giving him a look of concern. He looked at her wildly for a moment, then back at Dumbledore, who was still gazing at him. Dumbledore raised a gnarled finger to his lips and then looked to Harry. 

Draco took a deep breath and tried to school his features and calm his mind. He had let his emotions get the better of him. He needed to get a hold on himself. He blanked his mind, ordering his thoughts. 

Voldemort himself charmed the Diary of Malicious Intent. They were all doomed. Snake Face was insane, but he wasn’t an idiot. He knew more magic than anyone on the planet, save maybe Dumbledore. 

Draco needed to figure out how Voldy had been stopped fifty years ago. If he remembered correctly, after Myrtle died, the Chamber had been shut. And someone was caught and expelled from school. 

“We weren’t hungry,” Harry muttered.

“Yes, we went to see Myrtle instead,” Hermione said at the same time, her hand still on Draco’s arm. 

“Who is Myrtle?” Snape sneered. 

“The ghost that haunts the toilets on the second floor,” Dumbledore said faintly, frowning. “Why were you going to see Myrtle?”

“We’re friends with her,” Draco announced, entering the conversation for the first time. “One of the other ghosts upset her at the party. We wanted to see if she was all right.”

Snape sneered at Draco, but held his tongue. Dumbledore looked thoughtfully between the trio. Draco plastered his most innocent face on. Two pairs of eyes that were scanning his brain and Draco knew he couldn’t raise his Occlumency shields. He had calmed his mind, but no twelve year old knew Occlumency. He felt a slight brush against his mind that was familiar, so he knew it was Snape. He tried to think of Myrtle, but all he could think about was all his realizations and how screwed they all were. 

Snape scowled. 

Dumbledore looked away, smiling. “Innocent until proven guilty.”

Harry frowned deeply.

“My cat has been Petrified! I want to see some punishment!” Filch shirked loudly, his eyes popping out of his skull. 

“We will be able to cure her, Angus,” Dumbledore said kindly. “Professor Sprout recently managed to procure some Mandrakes.”

Draco raised his eyebrows. Sprout didn’t always show second years Mandrakes? They just _happened_ to show up this year? Draco looked at Hermione out of the corner of his eyes and felt she was thinking along the same lines.  

“As soon as they reach their full size, I will have a potion made that will revive Mrs. Norris.”

“I’ll make it!” Lockhart butted in, waving his hand above his head. 

Draco held in a snort as it reminded him of Granger. Hermione lightly slapped his arm. He turned to her to find him frowning at him. He must not have schooled his reaction well enough. Harry looked like he was torn between running away and laughing. 

“I must have done it a hundred times. I could whip up Mandrake Restorative Draught in my sleep!” 

“Excuse me, I believe I’m the Potions Master at this school,” Snape said icily. 

If looks could Petrify, Lockhart would be stone. 

“You may go,” Dumbledore said, looking at the three children in the room. 

Harry leapt up and was out of the room before Hermione or Draco had fully stood up. If Snape hadn’t been attempting to kill Lockhart with Death Eyes, he would have thought Harry guilty of something. Dumbledore gave Draco another meaningful look, before turning to Snape and Lockhart. Hermione and Draco left in a more dignified manner than Harry. It only lasted until they shut the office door. The moment the door shut, they both took off running after Harry. Harry bolted into an empty classroom when he reached the floor above Lockhart’s office. By the time Draco and Hermione had found him, Harry was tugging at his hair while he paced back and forth. 

“D’you think I should have told them about Medusa?”

“No,” Draco said. 

Hermione looked torn. 

“They would not let him keep a pet Basilisk,” Draco explained. 

Hermione wrung her hands together.

“She didn’t do anything! She warned us! She told us someone else opened the Chamber and tried to use her! And she isn’t supposed to be used this way! She’s there to defend us! Not kill off Muggleborns. Or cats.”

“She’d eat that cat if she could,” Draco muttered. Hermione slugged him in the arm. 

Harry stopped pacing and crossed his arms. “How did the Chamber of Secrets get opened if the diary is lost?”

“What diary?”

“Er—”

“Snake Face left some diary enchanted to open the Chamber of Secrets with Father,” Draco informed her. “Atlanta traded books with Ginny Weasley, as Father slipped it into her books when we were in Diagon Alley buying our school supplies.”

“Atlanta has the diary? I thought the note said she was in 1943.”

“I assumed she still had it with her when she went to 1943. Harry looked in the dormitory but didn’t find it,” Draco said. 

“Did it ever occur to you she vanished down to this Chamber of Secrets?”

“We looked,” Harry replied. “She’s not down there. She’s in 1943.”

Hermione frowned, still unwilling to accept that information. 

“So, now what?” Draco asked, carding a hand through his hair. “The Chamber is open and the cat is stiff. The diary is still clearly kicking around.”

“Petrified,” Hermione corrected. “I don’t think there is anything we can do if we don’t know where the diary is currently located, or how the diary managed to Petrify Mrs. Norris.”

“At least the snake is under my control,” Harry offered. “A diary can’t kill someone, can it?”

Hermione and Draco both stared at Harry as if he were stupid.

“Oh, right. It’s Voldemort’s diary. Of course it’ll kill someone.” 

“I realized something in the office,” Draco said, wondering if it was right to tell the pair.  “I know who opened the Chamber fifty years ago the first time.”

“Voldemort, right?” Harry guessed. 

Draco nodded. “Yes. I wasn’t sure, as I don’t know how old Voldemort is/was/will be or whatever. But, only a Parseltounge can open it, right?” 

Harry and Hermione nodded.

“The only two known Parseltounges in the last century or so…Voldemort and Harry Potter.”

“So, are you telling us Voldemort is back in the castle? Again?” Hermione asked, looking outraged. 

“The diary,” Harry said. “It’s Voldemort’s. So, I guess, in a sense he is. Wait, why would Voldemort use a Muggle diary belonging to T.M. Riddle to open the Chamber of Secrets?”

“I’m pretty sure Voldemort is T.M. Riddle.”

“Riddle isn’t a pureblood name,” Hermione announced. “I’ve never seen it listed any of the books I’ve read on wizarding history, so it can’t be…”

She stopped talking. 

“I think we need to figure out who this Riddle guy was or is and how he is connected to Voldemort,” Harry said.

Draco was looking at Hermione, knowing she had caught onto what Draco had entertained for a moment back in Lockhart’s office.

“It’s a made up name,” she whispered. “He made it up. He…wasn’t a pureblood. He wanted to be, but he wasn’t. His name was a glaring show of that. So, he decided to use the name Voldemort.”

“Why did he add Lord?” Harry asked, looking lost. 

“He has the biggest ego in the world. Also, even in our world, if you go by ‘lord’ you’re a pureblood. So he attached ‘lord’ to his nickname.”

Harry nodded. 

“I’ll go to the library and search Riddle,” Hermione announced. She turned on her heel and walked out of the empty classroom. “If Voldemort is Riddle, and if he’s as clever as you claim, he’ll have done something while he was at Hogwarts. You said he was there fifty years ago?”

Draco nodded.

“It’s a good starting point. I’ll see you two tomorrow. I’ll be in the library.” 

“My head hurts,” Harry announced.

“Stop pulling at your hair then.”

“Oh.”


	12. Secrets of Slytherins

**Disclaimer: If you know it, it comes from _Chamber of Secrets_ by JKR and I do not own it. **

* * *

The next afternoon when Harry and Draco finally found Hermione in the library, she was surrounded by what appeared to be old yearbooks and newspapers. She glanced up when she heard the boys approach. 

“Find anything yet?” Harry asked. 

“Riddle attended Hogwarts between 1938 and 1945. He was a prefect and Head Boy. He received a Medal of Magical Merit, as well as an award for Special Services to the school. He was extremely good looking.” 

Hermione glowered. 

“Pardon?” Draco asked, wondering why she was frowning if Riddle happened to— oh, wait. Voldemort looked like a snake. 

“That’s more than I would have been able to find in a morning,” Harry offered, either understanding or misreading the glowering expression on Hermione’s face. 

Hermione slammed her fist down on the table. “I cannot find anywhere WHAT Riddle did to get the Special Services award!”

Draco’s jaw dropped. “He got that…”

“Fifty years ago.”

“Oh! Do you think he could have gotten it for turning Voldemort in?” Harry asked, looking at the black and white photo of T.M. Riddle in the 1944-1945 yearbook. The photo smirked, flipped the curly hair out of his eyes and crossed his arms. 

Hermione was right. The young man was good looking. To the point it almost hurt to look at him. There was no way Snake Face would give up a face like Riddle’s to look like a snake, was there? 

 “Usually, there is almost always a _Daily Prophet_ article along with the awarding of that school award, but Riddle’s name NEVER appears in the _Prophet,”_ Hermione complained. 

“Not even for the Medal of Magical Merit?” Harry asked, still looking at the yearbook transfixed. 

Both Draco and Hermione scoffed at this. Harry jolted his attention away from the photo of Riddle. 

“Harry, that medal is given out to anyone who achieves top grades all seven years. It is awarded yearly,” Hermione explained. “It simply means Riddle was very clever.” 

“When did Riddle get the Special Service award exactly?” Harry asked. “It’s not listed here next to his name what year he got it in this yearbook.” 

Hermione reached for a book and pulled it towards her. Draco didn’t catch the title, but it was book composed of list after list of names and years. She stopped page turning and trailed her finger down the page till she found a name: T.M. Riddle. She turned the book towards the boys. Bending their heads together, they read: 

_School Year 1942-1943 Awards_

_Special Services to School - T.M. Riddle_

_Medal of Magical Merit - Alice G. MacDougal_

Draco looked up above to the year before if the award was given out. It wasn’t. He flipped a few pages till he found a listing for the Special Services award.

_School Year 1917-1918_

_Special Service to School - Lux R. Malfoy, creatively thinking in order to counter react an outbreak of Scrofungulus_

“There is a news article that goes along with that one,” Hermione offered, carefully handing Draco the copy of the _Daily Prophet_ from February 1918. 

“I’m pretty sure he didn’t invent the traps that captured the bugs,” Draco muttered. “They still do not know what magical bug causes Scrofungulus.” 

Knowing his relative, the family paid off someone so Lux could take credit. 

Hermione shrugged. “The one that was awarded before that was given to someone who manage to save a bunch of first years from a dragon that found its way onto campus.”

Harry’s green eyes went large.

“Every single one awarded since the founding of the school has something next to it, except the one given to Riddle!”

If it was possible, after that outburst, Hermione’s hair got larger and bushier. Frowning, Harry eased the book away from her and started flipping pages. Hermione stewed in frustration while Draco looked through what else she’d been searching through. 

“I’ve found another one without a listing,” Harry said quietly after a few minutes. 

“Where? Let me see.”

Hermione snatched the book from Harry. She gasped, putting her hand in front of her mouth. 

“Oh, Harry…”

“What?” Draco asked, looking between the two. 

“My dad got one. It doesn’t say why,” Harry admitted quietly. 

Draco took the book from Hermione and looked.

_School Year 1976 − 1977_

_Special Services to School - James C. Potter_

_Special Services to School - Peter P. Pettigrew_

Below that, in the next school year was listed: 

_Special Services to the School - Atlanta D. Black, for inventing a ward to further protect the school._

_Medal of Magical Merit - Lily M. Evans_

Draco shut the book. His stomach dropped to the heels of his feet upon reading about Atlanta the First. She wondered what possible ward she could have invented that would merit an award of that degree. 

“Well, your mum was the smartest person in their year,” Draco offered quietly.

“She was?” Hermione asked, taking the book from Draco. “Wow, Harry!”

Harry gave a weak smile. 

“Draco, isn’t that…” Hermione trailed off. “Atlanta D. Black. She’s that friend of yours?”

Draco nodded. Hermione looked around. She bit her lip and looked torn. Harry cleared his throat. 

“So, can we assume T.M. Riddle and Voldemort are the same person?” Harry asked. 

Hermione sighed, closing the book and putting it back where she had taken it from. “I don’t believe we can. I’ve cross referenced and checked and there is no way to link the two other than the fact Draco believes Voldemort is the Heir of Slytherin.”

Draco was about to argue, but she held up her hand to silence him. 

“I did find mentions of the fact Voldemort does in fact speak to snakes, so it is safe to assume he is in fact the Heir of Slytherin currently. However, no one knows where he came from. He…simply appeared with a following already in the late 1960s. No one speaks of where he came from. No one knows.”

Harry slouched in his seat. “So, we’re basically back to square one.”

“No. Draco, what made your realize that Voldemort was the Heir of Slytherin last night?”

Draco bit the inside of his cheek. He could not say he really put it together from things he knew from his past that had yet to happen. 

“It was actually, well, something Hermione said last year. About Voldemort making up a name. I was wondering how the diary had gotten the Chamber open as the Chamber opens only for a Parseltounge. Voldemort is a Parseltounge. Only Harry and Voldemort have been able to speak it in forever, so I…guessed.”

The strongest evidence for his claim was Voldemort’s reaction when he found out the diary was destroyed. The more Draco thought about the rage and anger the mad man had displayed at the news, the more Draco was sure Voldemort took the destruction of the diary personally. Like a part of his soul had been destroyed by Potter. 

Hermione put her fingers to her temples and massaged, closing her eyes. “All right. We cannot assume T.M. Riddle and Voldemort are the same person. We do know Riddle was smart and a very model student.”

“The Chamber opened fifty years ago,” Draco reminded her. “We know that for a fact. Here.”

He dug around in the stack of papers and found the one stating Myrtle died in a tragic accident. Hermione took it and frowned. 

“How is this proof? It says ‘tragic accident.’”

“She told me she heard someone hissing then died.”

“Oh,” Hermione said, sitting up straighter. “So, the snake killed her?”

Draco nodded. Harry sighed and shifted a bit in his chair. Hermione gave him a look that clearly stated “Spit it out.”

“Medusa admits to killing a student. She said it was an accident. While the Heir told her to kill Muggleborns, she hadn’t been expecting anyone in the bathroom when she was called out.”

“When did you speak to your snake?” Hermione demanded.

Harry turned red, staring at the ceiling. “I snuck out last night.”

“Harry,” Hermione sighed deeply. 

“You didn’t wake me up to go with you? You shouldn’t be gallivanting around on your own!” Draco exclaimed. 

“SHHHH!”

Draco cowed a bit. He’d forgotten they were in the library. Hermione was frowning at Harry, who was still studying the ceiling.

“Draco’s right. You shouldn’t sneak out at night, but if you do, don’t go alone,” Hermione insisted. 

“Back to the matter at hand,” Draco whispered. “Does the article say anything else?”

Hermione read through it. She shook her head and set it aside. Pulling a stack of papers towards her, she divided them out between the three and they began to search for mentions of attacks at Hogwarts. 

They did not find any. Draco did read the article that went along with Atlanta the First winning the award. She invented a ward that would “alert the Headmaster to enemies within the walls of Hogwarts.” Due to the timing, the articles did not go into detail what the ward did exactly, but Draco had a feeling it would alert who ever was keyed into the ward there were Death Eaters in the school. 

“They must have hushed it up as they are doing now,” Hermione sighed, pushing a stack of papers away from her.  

“Someone was expelled. Father told me,” Draco said, bringing himself back to the matter at hand. “Is there a book that lists those out?”

“No. Not available to students that I know of,” Hermione admitted. “I think our best bet is to learn more about the Chamber.”

“Oh?” Harry asked. “Why?” 

“Dumbledore said it was Dark magic that Petrified Mrs. Norris. Who is well known for his practice of the Dark Arts who happens to have an heir and a Chamber?”

“Slytherin.”

“Exactly. I’m hungry. Did I miss lunch?”

* * *

Two days later at breakfast, Hermione flopped down across from Draco a frown etched on her face. She had been wearing a down turned expression often, as Harry kept putting off their adventure into the Chamber. He had Quidditch and homework. Usually mentioning homework caused Hermione to back off. 

Draco silently offered Hermione a cup of tea, which she took. After a few sips, she announced, “All of the copies of _Hogwarts: A History_ have been checked out.”

“Er, don’t you own that book?” Harry asked, piling bacon onto his plate. 

“Yes. But with all the Lockhart books, I didn’t have room for all my…other books,” Hermione mumbled. She frowned into her tea cup. “There is a two week waiting list. Two weeks!”

“Why do you want it?” Draco asked. “Don’t you have it memorized?”

He remembered a number of times in the past timeline Granger would quote random facts out of the book. Hermione had to have the book memorized. 

“No, I do not,” Hermione snapped. “I want it for the same reason everyone else wants it. I want to read about the legend on the Chamber of Secrets.”

“Why? I can tell you.”

“You can?”

“Well, yes. In a sense. Slytherin made a chamber where no one could find it, stuck a snake that kills people in it and went on his merry way.”

In image of Salazar Slytherin wearing a dopy smile and skipping popped into Draco’s head. 

“That’s not what Medusa told me,” Harry said. 

Hermione stared at him with huge, brown eyes. Draco noticed quite a few people eavesdropping on their conversation, as when Harry said “Medusa” eyebrows went up. 

“Let’s go somewhere else to chat,” Draco said, standing up.  

The trio made their way upstairs to an unused classroom. Draco shut the door and warded it, then turned back to the other two. Harry heaved himself up on one of the desks. Hermione took a seat in a chair, eyeing Draco. Too late, he realized he’d once again done advanced magic. Silently.

After a year, you’d think he’d stop doing that. 

Avoiding meeting Hermione’s eye, Draco decided to sit on the desk like Harry. You’re only young once. Well, unless you’re Draco and you get to do it over again. 

Harry looked between Hermione and Draco a moment before launching into his explanation on what Medusa told him. 

“Last year, Medusa explained to me the reason for the chamber and her being there. The chamber was built because Slytherin was kind of a paranoid man and wanted to hide things and keep them safe from people he deemed unworthy. It had nothing to do with blood and stuff like that. Medusa said most of the stuff Slytherin squirreled away had to do with things important to him: Hogwarts, Parseltounge, the Dark Arts. Anyways, it was fifty years ago, when someone who claimed and smelled right told her to kill Muggleborns and complete the great work of Salazar Slytherin. She was confused, as that wasn’t what Slytherin told her. The last time she’d actually spoken to anyone was when Slytherin put her to sleep, so she was really puzzled when she woke up and was being told to murder people who were students at the school. Slytherin told her that her job was to _defend_ the school if people were trying to harm the students. She only followed the only other heir because she was crazed with hunger after being asleep for too long and he promised to feed her. And he smelled right.”

“Do you smell right?” Hermione asked.

“No. I don’t have a strong claim to the Heir of Slytherin spot,” Harry admitted, running a hand through his hair. “But, she likes that my magical blood I more pure.”

Hermione frowned. 

“No, not like that. Not like more pureblood. She meant the magic I practice hasn’t tainted me. I guess the last person who opened the Chamber and sent her after Muggleborns had tainted himself with something.”

“Dark magic?” Hermione asked. 

Draco frowned. 

“I don’t know. I didn’t ask her. Can that taint your magic?”

“Yes,” Hermione said as Draco said, “No.”

They glared at one another. 

“How does it not taint your magic?” Hermione demanded. 

“It doesn’t _do_ anything to your magic,” Draco insisted. “It doesn’t _do_ anything unless you get…to deep into it. But that can happen with Light Magic too. If you practice only one or the other, it can…”

Draco struggled to explain what he wanted to say. 

“It’s addictive,” Harry offered. 

Draco thought for a moment, then nodded in agreement. Hermione frowned, quirking her eyebrows upwards. Harry sat up straighter and looked excited. 

“It is kind of like Muggle drugs in a sense!” Harry shouted. “If you take too much aspirin, it’s bad for you. But if you take enough, it does good.”

Harry gave Hermione a hopeful look, then peeked at Draco to see if he’d gotten it right. Draco had no idea what aspirin was, but if he stuck something like Dreamless Sleep potion in there, Harry’s analogy worked.

“Aspirin is like…Dreamless Sleep potion?”

“No,” Hermione said slowly. “It’s more like a basic pain potion. Muggles take tablets to relieve pain. But, I understand what you’re saying, Harry. But, why does Dark magic have such a bad reputation if it’s not harmful?”

“Because of the intensions usually used behind the magic. There are curses and hexes that fall into the dark category that are harmful. There are many that you have to have ill intentions to get them to work properly,” Draco explained. “But, there are Dark curses that don’t harm if used correctly. Many of the curses and hexes we learn in DADA are actually Dark, but we use them in a defensive manner not an offensive manner.”

“You can also blind someone with a _Lumos,”_ Harry offered. “And it’s as Light as you can get.”

Harry grinned, while Draco rolled his eyes. 

“We need to go to class,” Hermione said, wearing an expression that told the boys she was going to have to do more research before she settled on if Dark Magic was the devil or not. 

* * *

Later that day, Draco felt his bag vibrating. He pulled the parchment Hermione and he had charmed first year. 

_Where are you? Have to talk._

Draco quickly wrote down where he was located in a window seat on the seventh floor overlooking the lake and tapped the parchment with his wand. He waited a moment. She didn’t write back, so he assumed she was making her way to him. Hermione appeared a short while later. 

“Where is Harry?”

“No clue. He vanished off after we were done with class,” Draco replied. “He might have Quidditch practice. Wood is gearing up to win the Cup again. This means insane practice times. Rain or shine.”

Hermione snorted. “Fine. You run this by him later to check facts with his snake friend. I just finished History of Magic. I asked Professor Binns about the Chamber of Secrets.”

“You asked Binns?” Draco asked, eyes popping out and eyebrows shooting upwards. “How did you get him to shut up long enough to ask a question?”

“I put my hand in the air,” Hermione said airily. “Do you want to hear what he had to say?”

Draco shut his Charms book and nodded. He swung his legs off the seat and allowed Hermione to sit down next to him. She dropped her bag and tugged her legs under her, turning to face Draco. 

“Binns said that over a thousand years ago, Hogwarts was founded. Date unknown, but it is known that it was founded by four great witches and wizards.”

“Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw and Salazar Slytherin,” Draco recited. 

Hermione bobbed her head. “They built the castle together, far from where any Muggles might find it. It was an age when magic was feared, so they were all worried. Witches and wizards were often hunted and persecuted.”

Draco nodded. 

“For a few years, I guess, the four worked in harmony. They sought out children who showed sings of magic and brought them to be taught. Binns said at some point a disagreement rose up between the four and a rift began to grow between Slytherin and the others. As we know, or assume, Slytherin wanted to be more picky on who came to be educated here.”

Draco folded his arms across his chest. “He wanted to keep the education available to all magical families.”

“Binns said Slytherin disliked taking students of Muggle parentage because he thought them to be untrustworthy.”

Draco nodded again. “It goes with his paranoia. And, in that age, it made sense to be more paranoid. Muggles were…violent and killed us if they found out about us because they thought we were possessed by the devil.”

“Yeah. The last thing Binns claimed reliable historical sources told us was there was an argument stemming from the issue of Muggleborns between Gryffindor and Slytherin, which caused Slytherin to leave.”

Draco hummed his agreement. “So, did Binns tell you anything about the Chamber of Secrets?”

“He did. So, according to legend, Slytherin sealed the Chamber of Secrets so that none would be able to open it except his own true heir. The heir alone would be able to unseal it and unleash the monster and use it to purge the school of those unworthy to study magic.”

“And that is what Harry’s snake claims that is false,” Draco said. 

Hermione inclined her head, tucking a bit of hair behind her ear. “Yes. Binns said that was nonsense as well. That the school has been searched and no chamber has been found.”

Draco waited. Hermione knew Draco and Harry had found the chamber and knew perfectly well where it was located. 

“How did the teachers not find it?”

“Hermione, until the Snake Face showed up at this school, there hadn’t been a Pareseltounge at the school in at least six hundred years. And I don’t think a member of the Slytherin family attended till Voldemort attended school.”

“If he did,” Hermione corrected. “We cannot assume T.M. Riddle and Voldemort are one and the same.”

“I believe they are.” 

“Why would T.M. Riddle be given an award for opening the Chamber of Secrets?”

“If he framed someone to take the blame, they’d give the award to him,” Draco pointed out. 

Hermione mashed her lips together. 

“I am sure Voldemort gave that diary to Father before his downfall,” Draco insisted. 

“Did he say that?”

Draco remained silent, not being able to say that his father actually had. The first time around, Draco hadn’t known anything other than the diary opened the Chamber and it’d been fifty years since the last time it had opened. Oh, and a Muggleborn died. 

“That is the only way to enter it,” Draco said, ignoring her question. “If there isn’t any one who can hiss correctly at the entrance, it will never open.”

Hermione bit her bottom lip. 

“Since we can safely assume Voldemort is the Heir of Slytherin, might he have had a child?”

Draco gagged. “A child?”

“Well, yes,” Hermione said, shifting and scowling. “Why could he not have a child? At some point he must have looked like a normal human being. He wasn’t always…whatever he is.”

His father had never told Draco one way or another if Voldemort had looked as he did when he returned in Draco’s fourth year. For all Draco knew, he’d always resembled a snake, as Bellatrix wanted to jump the guy’s bones when he was disgusting and reptilian. But…

Draco’s mind drifted back to the photo of T.M. Riddle. Draco was well aware of using looks to get what he wanted. If Riddle was Voldemort, it was safe to say he used his looks to gather his followers to him, to pursued them to his side. 

Actually, if he had looked like Riddle, it would have been EASY to gain a following to remain loyal even after he began channeling a snake. 

“Hermione, you really did not find any other Riddles in your search?”

“No, but the child could go by a different name,” she suggested. 

Draco bit his bottom lip. Might Voldemort have a kid? The diary wasn’t in Atlanta’s things and she _might_ have it with her still. The diary might not have opened the Chamber at all, it might have been Voldemort’s kid… but, where was this kid the first time around?

The Hat did tell Draco he’d changed the timeline all the way back to 1943. Could that mean Voldemort now had a kid? Because of Draco’s time traveling? 

His skin crawled at the thought. 

No. Voldemort had no children because the person who opened the Chamber didn’t smell right at all to the snake. If Voldemort had a kid, the kid would smell correct. 

Draco let out a sigh of relief. 

“Do you think we ought to go down and talk to the snake?” Hermione asked, tone telling Draco she was annoyed he was letting his thoughts drift off. “She might know more. She also might know if Voldemort had a child. The child could be opening the chamber and it’s not the diary at all.”

Hermione looked like she did not think this was the best idea in the world, but she was willing to pull out her all her courage and do it. 

“This weekend we ought to have Harry take us down there. Last time I went down there…I was too scared to really pay attention or explore. Maybe Snake Face left something down there that can tell us what he did to the diary…or…how to petrify someone without actually using the snake.”

Hermione nodded, turning away to look on the window behind her. Draco could almost hear her thoughts. 

“I don’t think Voldemort had a child,” Draco offered. “The night the chamber was opened, the snake told Harry the person didn’t smell right. Harry’s claim is weak, but she listens to him because he smells sort of right. The person who opened it didn’t smell right at all, so the snake didn’t even entertain the idea. If Voldemort had a child, this child would have smelled right to the snake.”

Hermione made a face and sighed. She couldn’t argue with that logic.

“So, it must be the diary.”

“Correct.” 

Hermione stared out the window again. 

“You could write a history essay on the whole topic. From the Mouth of a Founder’s Snake,” Draco tried to joke, seeing her serious expression. 

Hermione gave Draco a look and lightly slugged him in the shoulder. “As if, Draco.”

“Excuse me?”

Hermione giggled, grabbing up her bag. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning, Draco.”

She hurried off, vanishing around the corner. Draco flipped his feet back up onto the bench and leaned against the wall again. Pulling his homework back to him, he allowed himself to gaze out the window for a moment, mulling over what known history said about Slytherin and what the snake might tell them. Draco had a feeling the truth was no where close to what was believed. 


	13. Pieces of a Mysterious Puzzle

**Disclaimer: If you know it, it’s from _Chamber of Secrets_ and I do not own it. **

* * *

“I always knew Salazar Slytherin was a megalomaniac,” Hermione commented upon seeing the huge statue at the end of the main chamber. “It’s not as…opulent, though, as I imagined it being.”

“I have a feeling Voldemort stripped it of anything that was of value,” Harry commented, coming quickly to a small doorway near the foot of the statue. “Medusa was rather appalled when she saw it after I woke her up. It was a lot nicer when Voldy came down here the first time.”

“Harry, what are you doing?” Draco asked, his voice cracking. 

It was highly annoying. Draco knew his voice was changing. It was natural for boys to go through this, yet it was irritating. Draco’s voice continued to crack whenever he felt anything close to fear. 

“I’m going to ask Medusa if she’s seen or heard from the mysterious person who opened the chamber. I talked to her the day after, but this is the first time I’ve been able to get down here since. I’ll be right back.”

Harry vanished and Hermione took a step closer to Draco. He felt her shiver. He reached down and grabbed her small hand and tugged her to the right, where he knew a doorway to what used to be a library was located. Draco had left the door ajar the last time he and Harry had been down looking for signs of Atlanta. He pushed the usually hidden door open. The room was darker than black, but after a quick spell from his wand, the room was bathed in that odd warm greenish light. Hermione gasped, then sneezed.

“It smells of rotting paper in here,” she said, frowning. 

“Snake Face cleaned out all the books of use,” Draco said. “He left behind all the books that were damaged beyond repair. And, it seems this room floods every now and then, judging by the water marks on the wall. It’s a tragedy honestly.”

Draco let go of Hermione’s hand and placed a hand on the marble wall, near the damage.  It was regrettable water damage had befallen the rooms off the main chamber, but almost every room Draco and Harry had found while they hunted to see if Atlanta had been taken into the Chamber of Secrets had been in a similar state to the former library. 

Draco turned back to the room to find Hermione walking through the bookshelves while holding her robe sleeve over her nose. She poked a few of the rotting books with her wand, her brow frowning. Draco could hear her thought process. She morned each rotting book as she traveled down the aisles. Draco moved across the large room and hunted around for any more secret rooms. Many of the rooms were either hidden or guarded by snakes that would only open for Harry. Draco reached into his magic to help him feel around for foreign magic. It was how they’d found the library chamber in the first place. Draco assumed if Harry had actually been directly related to Slytherin as Voldemort happened to be, finding the rooms might have been easier. Not that it was hard, Harry just didn’t understand what he was looking for other than snakes. Some rooms had no snakes, like the library chamber. Harry, being twelve, wasn’t developed enough to use his magic to feel other magic as Draco was. 

Luckily, Harry didn’t care or notice what Draco was doing, so Draco had gotten away with it. 

“Why can Harry speak to snakes?”

Draco startled to find Hermione standing behind him, her robe sleeve still over her nose. 

“How can you breathe in here? You shouldn’t. There might be toxic mold in here,” Hermione said, her voice muffled by her robe sleeve.

Draco slapped himself in the head. He took his wand out. 

“Move your hand. I’m going to cast a Bubble Head charm,” Draco said.

Hermione’s eyes went wide. “That’s a sixth year charm! It’s hard.”

“Oh?” Draco mentally cursed himself. He cast it on her any ways. He wasn’t very good at it, but it’d work for now. 

“See, it’s not very good,” Draco commented, casting it on himself. “It should help with breathing.”

“It does,” Hermione replied. “So, besides being able to perform upper year magic, you and Harry hiding anything else from me?”

“No,” Draco lied flawlessly. 

Hermione studied him through narrowed coffee colored eyes that seemed to glitter in the odd green light. Draco shifted, his hand resting into the cold, black marble wall. His hand sunk into the wall. 

Draco screamed. Rather girlishly. 

“Draco!”

Harry burst into the room, rushing across the room to where Hermione was attempting to free Draco from the wall. 

“The wall is eating me!”

Harry hissed something and the wall spit Draco out. Harry hurried over to the pair. Hermione was checking to make sure Draco was in one piece. Draco was too distracted by Hermione’s hands and the fact the wall had just tried to eat him to notice that Harry walked through the wall till Hermione screamed, “Harry!”

Harry’s head poked back through. “It’s a door. I don’t think the last Heir knew about this room. What is around your heads?”

“Bubbles,” Hermione said, letting go of Draco. “So it wasn’t trying to kill Draco?”

Harry shook his head. “No. It was trying to get him in the room. I don’t know why. I asked the wall to stop and it did. I’ll let you through.”

Harry hissed and the marble wall took on the appearance of rippling water. Draco grabbed onto Hermione’s hand again and together they took a step forward. Draco closed his eyes tightly. Passing through the wall felt like walking through cold water, only once he was in the other room, he was not wet. Opening his eyes, he was greeted with a dimly lit chamber that was much smaller than the other rooms Harry and Draco had found so far. 

“What is the spell you use to light rooms?” Harry asked. 

The room was currently lit by Harry’s wand. 

“ _Incendio.”_

Harry cast the charm, but it wasn’t in English. He hissed it and green flames shot out of his wand, swept around the room and lit the sconces on the walls and the fireplace, quickly warming the entire room. 

“What did you just do?” Hermione whispered.

“Er…cast the spell Draco just told me,” Harry admitted. “Why? What did I do?”

“I think you cast it in Parseltounge,” Draco said, staring at Harry in awe. “That was amazing. And judging by your face, you didn’t realize you’d done it.”

Harry shook his head. “I haven’t cast any spells down here. Will they all be in Parseltounge?”

“No clue. Try something else.”

“Levitate this quill,” Hermione offered, pulling a quill out of her bag. She set it on the small table sitting between the ornate looking chairs near the fireplace. They were wooden, carved with snakes and glittering with gems. They were sealed in something that made them glitter and shine in the green firelight. 

“ _Wingardia Leviosa,”_ Harry cast in English. The feather rose up a bit and then back down. “Was that in English?”

“Yes,” Hermione said, frowning. 

“Maybe it’s only spells you do to the actual Chamber of Secrets,” Draco suggested. 

Harry sighed deeply and sat down in one of the chairs. He frowned, shifted around before giving up at getting comfortable. Hermione took the chair across from Harry. Draco turned in a circle and noticed they were in a room that looked to be a person study of some sort. There was a desk at the other end of the room, ornate as the two chairs near the fireplace. 

It was clear Voldemort had not found the room. The valuables were all still in place. 

Draco drifted over to the other side of the room were shelves with books that weren’t rotting stood. Draco ended the Bubble Head charm (the room’s air seemed safe to breathe) and cast it on his hands, acting as gloves. Assuming the books were left by Slytherin, they were old. So old, they might fall apart in his hands. 

Draco pulled one of the books and opened it up. It was filled with handwriting— narrow, ornate and impossible to read handwriting. Each book Draco pulled out was the same. 

“What are you doing?” Hermione asked, appearing beside him. 

“These books. I think they are Slytherin’s journals. I can’t read them, though. They’re written in some language I don’t know,” Draco said.

“Old English? Celtic?” Hermione asked, peering over Draco’s arm. 

“I don’t know. Some of them are in Ancient Runes, though. I think,” he offered. He had never been very good at Runes.

Harry popped up at his elbow and gasped. 

“What?” Hermione asked, eyes glittering. “Can you read it?”

“Yeah,” Harry breathed, moving to take the book from Draco

“Wait! Let me cast a protective charm on your hands. The oils in your hands might cause the books harm. They are very old and not protected by magic,” Draco said. 

“That spell wasn’t invented till the 1600s. The parchment preservation charm,” Hermione explained at Harry’s confused face. “It’s on all books now, even old ones created before the charm was invented. But, I doubt these books have seen the light of day since Slytherin left Hogwarts.” 

Draco cast the charm on both Harry and Hermione and let Harry have the book he had been holding. Harry took the book and sat down at the desk behind Draco. He carefully turned the pages, his green eyes glowing in the greenish light. 

“This is Slytherin’s journal. He is writing about building the school with the other three founders,” Harry breathed. “Why can I read— wait, is this written in Parseltounge?”

“There is a written language for Parseltounge?” Draco and Hermione asked in unison. 

“Oh, Harry! Think of the historical value of these books! A first hand account of the founding of Hogwarts! These books are priceless! Why would Slytherin hide them down here?”

“Maybe the answer is in the books? They could be in order,” Draco offered. 

There were at least ten shelves full of the journals. 

Hermione let out a sigh. “I wish I could read them. Though, I guess we could translate the ones in Ancient Runes.”

Harry made a noise of disgust. “Slytherin really didn’t like Muggleborns. Or, I guess he didn’t like their parents.”

Harry slammed the book shut and stood up. “There hasn’t been anyone else down here since we came down last time. I’m hungry. Let’s go eat lunch.” 

Harry stalked out of the room. Hermione and Draco exchanged glances and quickly followed, as neither fancied being stuck in the hidden room. 

* * *

Another week passed before Hermione and Draco were able to talk Harry into going back into the Chamber of Secrets. Draco felt Harry wasn’t telling them all he had read in the journal. He was very upset by whatever had had read. He had taken to avoiding Hermione all together, as she was inching to get her hands on the books in Ancient Runes to start translating. She spent her free time reading a book called _Ancient Runes for Dummies_. Draco thought the title was stupid, but both Hermione and Harry laughed. Draco felt like he’d missed something.  

It was a Saturday afternoon in November when Hermione squealed loudly, jumping to her feet. She bounced up from up and down by the fireplace in the hidden room they’d discovered in the Chamber of Secrets. After squealing a few minutes, Hermione jumped around the room, waving a piece of paper in her hand. 

“It’s a book of spells,” she exclaimed. “I translated the whole first page.”

Draco blinked at her. “You did?”

They had only been down in the Chamber for about three hours. Harry had fallen asleep while reading a journal written in Snake Language. Draco was working on translating on of the books in Runes and had managed to get a paragraph done in three hours. 

“Yes,” Hermione admitted. “Once I realized what was what, it went quickly. If it was something more than spells, it would have been harder. Spells transcend language barriers. Most spells are in Latin. These are all spells for protection. Wards and stuff. They are much too complicated for us to do, but they might be useful to someone else. Why would Slytherin hide all this stuff?”

“He was a paranoid bastard,” Harry grumbled, lifting his head out of the journal he’d fallen asleep in. He blinked sleepily, rubbing his eyes. 

Harry’s touch and skin did not seem to damage the books. Draco and Hermione’s skin did  damage the books, so they were both encased in skin tight Bubble charms. None of them had mastered the book preservation spell as of yet. 

“What else have you found out, Harry?” Hermione asked carefully. 

Harry grumbled and rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Slytherin was persecuted by Muggles his whole life. That was why he was so bitter and paranoid. I’m not reading these in order, as there doesn’t seem to be an order. That one is about the founding. He was grateful to find people of his own mind. It seems he wasn’t aware there were other people with his skills till he met Gryffindor.”

Draco frowned. “How could that have been? I thought the Slytherin family was, well, an old pureblood family?”

Harry shrugged. “I don’t know. He hates Muggles. A lot. He studied Darker magic to protect himself from Muggles. Gryffindor didn’t like it, but seemed to let him do whatever he wanted. Gryffindor was a lot older than Slytherin. He seemed to be the youngest from the way he talks in that book.”

Harry pointed at another one. Harry had his own organizational method for the books. Hermione frowned as she stared at the piles of journals, not sure how to decipher Harry’s methods. 

“But, he is very paranoid. And…I don’t know. He is so bitter it almost hurts to read his accounts,” Harry admitted quietly. “And I haven’t found anything on why Medusa is really here. Or how you can mimic what the snake does without the actual snake.” 

“But you’ve discovered fascinating, unknown history!” Hermione exclaimed. 

“But, no one will believe me. I’m the only person alive who can read it. Well, besides Voldemort. But he’s not actually alive or dead,” Harry reminded her. “I know enough about history textbooks to know they always have to sight the source of the information. I am the only living person who can read this.”

Both Hermione and Draco realized the grave nature of this statement. 

“You should translate it, then,” Draco suggested.

“Draco, I am twelve. I want to play Quidditch. I want to learn magic just like everyone else my age. I want to be normal. I don’t want to be the only Parseltounge and have this…huge responsibility heaped on me.”

Harry frowned deeply.

Harry did have a lot of responsibility for a kid heaped on his shoulders. If anyone knew this, it was Draco. Harry was supposed to save the wizarding world from Voldemort. The three knew Voldemort wasn’t gone for good. And all three knew he’d be back for Harry. This added pressure wasn’t going to do Harry any favors. 

“He’s right,” Draco said before Hermione could protest. “There is nothing in these books that will help us figure out how the chamber is being open by a non-Parseltouge. The snake already said she wasn’t going to listen. Let’s go…be kids.”

Harry looked relieved. Hermione looked furious. Draco shrugged.

“He can do this after he graduates,” Draco suggested. “You can help him out. The books have sat here for hundreds of years already. They can last another seven. This room is well protected. Only Harry can get in.”

Hermione hrmphed, but followed Harry out of the room. 

It was a rather quick trip back to the entrance. The fall sunlight was pouring in the upper windows of the toilet and made the usually dreary toilet look almost cheery. Harry bounced his way over to the door and threw it open, bounding into the hallway without looking. 

“POTTER!”

Hermione came to a halt, causing Draco to ram into her, almost knocking her over. Draco grabbed Hermione before she fell and stood in the doorway of the bathroom till the door slammed shut behind him and Prefect Weasley appeared in front of Harry, who had halted mid-step.

“That’s a girls’ toilet!” Prefect Weasley gasped. “What were you…”

He came stop in front of Harry, having noticed Hermione and Draco. 

“What are the three of you doing in a girl’s toilet?”

Prefect Weasley put his hands on his hips and his prefect badge caught the sunlight pouring in the windows, almost blinding Draco. 

“Just looking around for clues,” Harry tried, a gobsmacked expression on his face. “You know…it’s what I do.”

Prefect Weasley swelled, his eyes looking like they were going to pop out of his skull. 

“Get— away— from— there!” Prefect Weasley ordered, striding forward into the space between Harry and the other two. He began flapping his arms around to get Draco and Hermione to move. “Don’t you care what this looks like? Coming back here while everyone’s at dinner!”

“It’s dinner time?” Harry asked, lighting up. “No wonder I’m hungry!”

Prefect Weasley glared at Harry and let out a noise of exasperation. 

“We didn’t do anything wrong,” Draco said hotly, his temper rising. He glared at the Prefect. “We never did anything to that cat. Why would anyone think we did?”

“That’s what I told Ginny! She’s in a right state, though! She’s terrified! First her friend goes missing and now the cat’s been Petrified! And you three getting yourselves expelled wouldn’t do her any good either! I’ve never seen her so upset, crying her eyes out! You might think of your fellow housemates!”

Draco stared at the guy in wonder. Hermione looked besides herself, while Harry ogled Prefect Weasley as if he were a sideshow.

“All the first years are throughly overexcited about this!” Prefect Weasley went on, flattening his hair for some reason and looking around wildly. 

“Percy, lay off them!”

“Yeah, you don’t care about first years!” 

The twins suddenly appeared at the other end of the corridor. 

“I do too!”

“You’re just worried about them messing up your chances at Head Boy,” one of the twins shouted.

“Five points from Gryffindor!” Prefect Weasley shouted, storming off towards the twins. 

One of the twins, Fred maybe, winked before tearing off. George shouted something else which Draco didn’t catch before taking off after his brother. Prefect Weasley swelled again and barreled off after his brothers shouting, “I’ll write Mother!”

Harry looked at Draco and asked, “What was that about?”

“I have no idea,” Draco admitted. “But they helped us out, even if we still lost five points.”

“The twins lost five points,” Harry corrected. “Let’s go to dinner. I’m starved.” 

The trio started to head towards the Great Hall. They did not get far before Harry suddenly flew sideways and wound up sprawled on the floor with a burly sixth year on top of him. 

“Oi! Harry! Didn’t see you there!” Oliver Wood shouted at Harry, jumping up. He hauled Harry to his feet. It more looked like Wood sent Harry flying through the air, but somehow Harry wound up on his feet. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Harry muttered. He straighten his shirt and looked around. “Where did you come from?”

“No where. Seen Percy?”

“That way. He’s chasing the twins,” Draco offered.

“Thanks!” Wood said and cheerily walked off in the direction indicated. 

The three looked at one another before Harry asked again, “Where did he come from? There’s no doors around here.”

They turned around in a circle. Sure enough, there was no where for Oliver Wood to come from the direction he’d appeared. 

“Well, Hogwarts is a mysterious place,” Hermione offered. “Maybe there’s a secret passage or something around here.”

“Let’s look later. I’m hungry. And now bruised. Man, he’s heavy,” Harry mumbled. 


	14. Death by Bludger

**Disclaimer: I did not write Chamber of Secrets, nor do I own it. So, if you know it, I do not claim to own it.**

* * *

After the disaster with the pixies, Lockhart gave up brining live creatures to class. Instead, he took to reading his wide array of books out loud.  

The disaster with the pixies was more informative than his books. 

The only enjoyable thing about the readings was the fact Harry was almost alway required to play act during the readings. Harry grudgingly did this, playing a Transylvanian villager cured of a Babbling Curse, a yeti with a head cold, and a vampire who had been unable to anything except lettuce since coming across Lockhart. 

A vampire would never eat lettuce.

“I need a werewolf today!” Lockhart shouted at the start of class. “Harry, come on up!”

Harry shrunk into his seat. 

“Come on, Harry. Pip, pip!” Lockhart went on.

Harry hauled himself to his feet and dragged himself to the front of the room. Draco tried his best to keep a straight face. Yes, Harry was his friend. Yes, he felt sorry for Harry. But, it still amused Draco to no end. He wondered if Potter put up with this the first time around. 

“All right, here we go,” Lockhart sung out and began his dramatic reading. 

Harry stood in front of the room, somewhat red and stared daggers at Lockhart. Lockhart reached the point he met the werewolf and told Harry to howl.

“Nice loud howl, Harry.”

Harry let out a pathetic howl. He sounded like he was a dying cat. 

“No, try that again. Put some effort into it!”

Harry tried again.

“Exactly! All right. And then, if you’ll believe it, I pounced— like this!”

Lockhart pounced towards Harry, holding the book aloft. 

“Now fall down Harry,” Lockhart whispered as he placed a hand on Harry’s chest. Harry collapsed, lying in a boneless heap on the floor. “I slammed him to the floor and thus, with one hand I managed to hold him down!”

Harry flopped his arms and legs out and let his tongue hand out the side of his mouth. Several people in the class snickered. 

Out of all his performances, this happened to be one of Harry’s better ones. Maybe there was hope for Harry to become an actor? 

Draco silently snickered at the thought. 

“I took my wand out with my other hand and screwing up the remaining bit of strength I performed the immensely complex Homorphus charm and he let out a piteous moan!”

Lockhart paused and waited for Harry to moan. Harry complied.

“Higher than that.”

Harry tried again, higher.

“Good. So, the fur then vanished, the fangs shrank and he turned back into a man!”

Lockhart jumped back from Harry, who remained spread eagle on the floor.

“Simple, yet effective! And yet another village will remember me forever as the hero who delivered them from the monthly terror of werewolf attacks!”

You couldn’t get rid of a werewolf with a simple charm. If that was so, then there’d be no werewolves. 

The bell sounded and Lockhart jumped.

“OH! Already? Time flies when you’re having fun!” Lockhart exclaimed happily. “Homework— compose a poem about my defeat of the Wagga Wagga Werewolf! Signed copies of _Magical Me_ to the author of the best one!”

Kill me, Draco thought. Harry sat up, glaring at Lockhart before getting to his feet and joining Draco. They packed up and left the classroom. 

“A poem? A poem?” Harry shouted as they walked down the hall. “How will that help me defend myself against a werewolf?”

“You can’t really defend yourself against a werewolf,” Draco informed him as they wove their way through the crowds. “Unless you kill it.”

“Why would I want to do that? They’re still people except for one day of the month when they are furry,” Harry said. 

Draco stared at him. “True. But not many people in the wizarding world see werewolves that way. They are greatly feared. Even in human form.”

Harry frowned. “That’s stupid. Human form shouldn’t matter, unless they are a crazed serial killer, but then it wouldn’t matter if they were a werewolf or not. Can’t they do something for the non serial killers out there? Like that charm?”

“That charm doesn’t exist,” Draco muttered, wondering what a cereal killer happened to be. Did the Muggle world have people who killed for cereal?

“Of course not,” Harry muttered. “Shouldn’t they sell Lockhart’s books as works of fiction?”

Draco snickered. “Yeah.” 

“HARRY!”

Draco and Harry stopped, turning to find Oliver Wood careening at them. Draco managed to get out of the way before Wood caused Harry to meet the ground again. The older boy scurried off Harry quickly, throwing Harry into the air again in his attempt at getting Harry back on his feet. 

“Where have you been? We have Quidditch practice!”

“Er, Oliver, I had class.”

“Are you done?”

“Er, yes.”

Without waiting, Oliver hauled Harry off. Draco watched with an amused expression on his face before turning and heading to the Common Room. He entered and glanced around before noticing Ginny Weasley sitting at a table far away from everyone else alone. She was huddled around her books, looking rather pale. Draco glanced around, wondering where her friends all happened to be. She slammed something shut, threw it into her school bag, and pulled another book open. Draco slowly ambled over to her. 

“Hey,” he greeted.

She jolted, upsetting her ink well and spilling ink all over the place.

“Sorry,” Draco quickly apologized, using his wand to clean up the mess for her. “I was wondering how you’re doing. You’re friends with Atlanta, right?”

Ginny nodded.

“Heard anything?”

She shook her head. 

“She’s okay. I can’t tell you more, but she’s fine and she’ll be back,” Draco assured her. 

He wondered why he was doing this, but pushed it out of his mind. Atlanta wouldn’t want her friend to be miserable. 

“Oh, okay,” Ginny said quietly. She tucked her red hair behind her ears and looked up at him shyly. “You really can’t tell me where she went?”

“I don’t really know,” Draco lied. “But Dumbledore said she was fine and she’d be back.”

Ginny nodded. 

“How are you enjoying Hogwarts so far?” Draco asked, sitting down. 

Ginny stared at him with huge eyes. “Fine, I guess. The classes are kind of hard.”

“Yeah, it can take some getting used to,” Draco offered. “Need any help?”

“You want to help me?” Ginny asked in a squeaky voice. 

“Sure, why not?”

Ginny stared at him as if he’d lost his mind, but Draco kept pestering her till she admitted she was having problems with her Potions essay, which he instantly helped her with. He felt bad for her, as during the entire time he was sitting with her, none of the other first years came over to greet her. Not even that annoying Creevey kid. Draco always had the impression Ginny Weasley was rather popular, yet she was quiet, shy and jumpy. Draco hadn’t paid much attention to her till now, but he did not remember her behaving like this before Atlanta went missing. Draco vowed to keep a closer eye on the girl, especially since her only friend had gone missing. 

Also, after Ginny excused herself after thanking him for his help, it occurred to him she might have somehow gotten the diary. It could alter ones personality. It was evil. 

He definitely needed to keep an eye out for the diary and on her. 

* * *

On Saturday morning, Draco woke early to the sound of Harry making odd noises. Sitting up, Draco opened his curtains and found Harry throwing things all over his side of the room. 

“What are you doing?”

“Getting dressed,” Harry answered. 

Harry looked a bit green as he shoved a t-shirt over his head. His hair stuck up at wild angles. Draco wasn’t sure if he ought to tell Harry he’d put his shirt on backwards. Harry explained he was going down to breakfast and hurried out. Knowing it was useless to go back to sleep, Draco got ready to face the day. 

Upon entering the Great Hall an hour later, Draco found the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team was up and all huddled together at one end of the long table. They all looked uptight and nervous. The only person talking was one of the girls, who was talking a mile a minute to one of the twins, who nodded his head every now and then. Draco slid in next to Harry, who was seated next to Oliver Wood, who moved aside for Draco. Wood poked at his breakfast and finally gave up as the rest of the school trailed into the Great Hall. 

“Locker room,” Wood proclaimed. 

The entire team stood up, leaving Draco alone with his morning tea. Shrugging, Draco went back to eating. The entire team looked like they were going to their deaths as they filed out. Draco wasn’t alone for long. Neville sat down across from Draco, peering around.

“Where’s Harry?”

“Left with the team for the locker room,” Draco responded, looking up. He noticed a rather pale Ginny enter and glance around. “Hey, Ginny!”

Neville looked a bit confused as Draco waved a hand over his head to get Ginny’s attention. She stared at Draco wide eyed for a long time till she moved and sat down in the spot vacated by Harry. 

“Excited for the game?” he asked. “This is your first match, huh?”

“Yes,” Ginny answered, still looking baffled. 

“Here,” Draco announced, handing her a cup of tea. “Looks like you need a pick me up.”

“Thanks,” she said, staring into the cup for a long time. 

“I didn’t poison it,” Draco commented.

Neville snorted. Ginny startled, clearly not having realized Neville was sitting there. 

“I’m Neville,” he announced.

“Ginny.”

Neville smiled at her largely. Neville began to ask Ginny questions about Quidditch and soon the girl emerged from her shell a little. She liked Quidditch about as much as Harry, so it was easy for the two boys to carry on a conversation with the girl as long as they stuck to Quidditch. 

As eleven o’clock rolled around, the whole school began to pour out of the front doors. Draco invited Ginny to sit with them, which caused her to blush crimson. She nodded, though. 

Neville kept the conversation going with the youngest Weasley the whole way out to the Quidditch pitch through the muggy air. Even though it was late fall, the air was humid and Draco could almost smell the thunder in the air. Because of this, he chose seats near the bottom of the bleachers and close to the exit, just in case a thunderstorm did break out. 

Ginny settled in next to him and Neville on the other side of her. They were discussing their favorite Quidditch teams still when Hermione plopped down on Draco’s other side. She startled a bit when she noticed Ginny talking animately with Neville. Draco smiled softly at Hermione, hoping she’d get it. She nodded a little, still frowning a bit as the two teams, Gryffindor and Slytherin, walked onto the pitch. The roar of the crowd picked up at the sight of the two teams. Madam Hooch had the captains crush hands and blew her whistle. 

The crowd roared louder as the teams took to the air. Draco watched Harry fly around, heading up higher and higher. Hermione gripped Draco’s forearm. Quidditch made her nervous for Harry’s well being. 

Suddenly, a Bludger came out of nowhere, pelting right at Harry’s head. Harry dodged it narrowly, almost toppling off his broom. One of the twins flew up and went after the Bludger, hitting it at a Slytherin. 

The Bludger never reached the Slytherin. 

It changed direction midair and headed straight for Harry.

“Bloody hell,” Draco hissed under his breath. 

He quickly began scanning the stands. He found his father sitting next to Mr. Nott in the teacher’s box. His father looked like his usual smug self, while Mr. Nott wasn’t even paying attention to the game. He was having a heated debate with Snape. Draco looked back at his father. 

Did his father bring Dobby? No, Draco was sure his father wouldn’t bring Dobby anywhere. But, Dobby, being Dobby would leave without permission to save Harry Potter’s life. 

The Bludger pelted for Harry again. One of the twins smacked it away, but it turned right back for Harry. 

“Seriously?!” Draco shouted, causing Hermione to jerk.

Dobby clearly had a misplaced definition of life saving. 

Why was this happening again? Hadn’t Draco and Harry spoken to the Elf?

“Draco?”

“DOBBY!”

He waited for the Elf to appear, but it never happened. 

“DOBBY!” he tried again.

Still nothing.

Harry was speeding all over the pitch, the Bludger chasing him. The Weasley twins were trying to help him, but the Bludger refused to budge. And then, if things couldn’t be worse, it started to rain. 

Draco yanked at his hair. 

“Draco, what is the matter?”

“BLOODY ELF!” Draco shouted. 

The Weasley twins trailed around after Harry, trying to keep him safe from the Bludger of Death. The game soon was out of control, as the Slytherin Beaters had no trouble knocking the Gryffindor Chasers off their brooms since they had no Beaters to protect them. Wood began shouting, but no one could hear him over the storm. 

Wood finally called a time out. The team huddled together on the ground. Draco began to climb down. He had to find Dobby. He knew Dobby was behind this, as he hadn’t appeared when Draco shouted, thus confirming his role in Operation Save Harry’s Life by Killing Him with a Bludger.

“Draco, where are you going?”

“To find my blasted House Elf,” Draco shouted at her. “He’s cursed the Bludger to trail after Harry because he’s got this mad idea Harry’s going to die if he stays in school when the Chamber is open.”

Realization suddenly dawned in Hermione’s eyes and she quickly joined Draco in his search of the stadium for the blasted House Elf. Dobby had to be hanging out near by, as the Bludger was following Harry too closely to be charmed before hand. Draco and Hermione checked everywhere on the ground level and in the teacher’s box, but couldn’t find the Elf anywhere. Draco hurried towards the pitch, hearing the noise level of the crowd pick up.

“I think Harry’s seen the Snitch,” Hermione offered from behind Draco. 

The pair neared a door leading to the pitch the moment Harry hit the ground, landing in a splattering of mud. He sat up, wobbling back and forth, but clearly holding the golden ball. He then fell over, splashing down in the mud. 

“Harry!” Hermione shirked, taking off before Draco could stop her. Draco ran after her. She reached Harry before anyone else (somehow) and slid down in the muddy grass next to Harry. She stared at him, waving her wand over him quickly before they were joined by the rest of the team and tragically Lockhart. 

How had Lockhart gotten down here so fast? And why wasn’t he wet?

“Just fainted!” Lockhart shouted.

“Will he okay?”

“Oh, yes, fine,” Lockhart said, pushing Hermione out of the way. 

“Oi!” Draco shouted, rushing to Hermione’s side. He helped her stand up. She frowned at Lockhart as Harry came around.

“Oh, no. Not you,” Harry moaned, trying to roll away from Lockhart, but the pain in his arm prevented him from doing much other than grinding his teeth together. 

“Doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” Lockhart loudly said to the gathering crowd. “Not to worry, Harry. I’m about to fix your arm.”

“NO!” Harry shouted. “I’ll keep it like this, thanks.”

Suddenly, there was a blinding flash of light and clicking. Creevey had arrived.

“I don’t want a photo of this, Colin,” Harry loudly said.

“Lie back, Harry,” Lockhart went on, flashing a smile to Creevey and his camera. Lockhart grabbed Harry and forced him back into the mud. “It’s a simple charm I’ve used countless times!”

“Why can’t I just go to the Hospital Wing?”

“He really should, Professor,” Wood said, grin on his face. He looked like he was bursting with pride. “Great catch, Harry. Really spectacular. Your best yet!”

“Oi!”

“What the hell?”

Draco turned around for a second and noticed the Weasley twins fighting with the Rouge Bludger of Death trying to get it back into the box. It was putting up a terrific fight. Madam Hooch looked besides herself as she attempted to help the pair. She went flying backwards a few times. 

“No! No! It’s a simple charm!” Lockhart said loudly and dramatically, waving his wand around trying to get everyone’s attention back on him. “Stand back!”

Lockhart rolled up the sleeves of his jade-green robes.

“No! Don’t!” Harry pleaded, but Lockhart went on twirling his wand and a second later pointed it right at Harry’s arm. 

Harry’s face was hilarious. His eyes went crossed for a moment, then he grimaced. Finally, his eyes went wide and he made a horrified expression, lifting his arm up. It flopped around, looking like a wet noodle. Hermione gagged.

“Ah, yes. Well, that can sometimes happen,” Lockhart said, grabbing Harry’s arm and bending it back and forth. 

Several other people gagged.

“But, point is it’s no longer broken!” Lockhart said happily. “That’s the thing to bear in mind! So, Harry, just toddle up to the Hospital Wing…Ah, Mr. Malfoy!”

Draco looked around for his father, for some reason. Then he realized Lockhart was talking to him. 

“And Miss Granger! Would you escort him? Madam Pomfrey will be able to, er, tidy you up!”

Lockhart vanished in a flash of teeth and shiny hair. Draco and Hermione went to Harry’s side and helped him to his feet. Harry was oddly lopsided, as his right arm was longer than his left. Hermione made yet another gagging noise. 

“Well, Harry, you don’t do things half way, do you?” Draco joked. 

“What the hell did he do?”

“Removed your bones,” Draco said as if it was obvious. “I’ll have to know, I’m pretty sure Dobby charmed the Bludger to kill you.”

“That little bugger,” Harry grumbled. “When I get my hands on him…”

Harry made a face of outrage and began walking, ripping himself out of Hermione and Draco’s grip. He stalked off, his right arm flopping comically at his side. 


	15. A Death of a Camera

**Disclaimer: If you know it, I do not own it. If you really know it, it is from _Chamber of Secrets_ by JKR. **

* * *

Draco found an empty classroom after dinner on Saturday. His father and Mr. Nott had remained for dinner, his father smirking and wearing an arrogant glint in his grey eyes. Even though Slytherin had lost the game, Nott was still puffed up and superior throughout dinner, trying to show off for his father, who pointedly ignored his own son. For mere seconds Draco felt something akin to sympathy towards Nott. Till Nott started doing impersonations of Harry and his boneless arm. 

 Draco slammed the classroom door behind him. Shortly after he did this, it flew open and Hermione appeared. 

“What _are_ you doing?”

“DOBBY!” Draco yelled.

Hermione quietly shut the door while Draco waited for Dobby.

There was a sudden loud crack and Dobby appeared, his fingers all bandaged up and his ears drooping. There was a huge welt on his head. Hermione gasped in shock. 

“What happened to him?”

“He punished himself for not following orders,” Draco said emotionlessly. 

“Little Master called?” Dobby asked in a weak voice, eyeing Hermione. 

Draco bit his tongue at the use of the name Dobby had used since he was a baby. 

“Yes, remember this summer when we spoke?”

“Yes, Little Master.”

“And? Today?”

Dobby bit his lip and stared at the ground, shuffling his feet a little. He looked like a scolded child.  

“You almost killed Harry! You are trying to keep him safe!”

“No! Only wanted to grievously injury Harry Potter!”

Hermione gasped, this time in shock.

“Dobby! Why are you doing this? Harry can’t be hurt!”

“The Chamber of Secrets is open, sir!”

“I know! But Harry won’t be harmed!” Draco shouted. 

“Yous said yous was getting the diary! Yous lied!” Dobby shouted, forgetting himself. He cringed for a moment, but when Draco continued shouting at him, he reverted back into scolded child mode. 

“We had the dairy! Then Atlanta went missing and we thought she had it! Someone clearly stole it from her!” 

Dobby looked outraged, but kept his eyes glued to the ground. Draco sighed. He took a deep breath and attempted to calm himself down. It wasn’t Dobby’s fault he hero worshiped Harry. Nor was it Dobby’s fault he was treated so badly by the Malfoy family he wanted to be free of them. 

Draco knew Dobby didn’t want to be “free” from work. He loved working. He simply needed someone like say Harry Potter to work for. 

“Dobby, please, listen,” Draco said in a softer voice. “I do not want any harm to come to Harry, but you can’t harm him and get him sent home, okay? They won’t send him home, they will just fix him.” 

Judging by Dobby’s face, he had not thought of that. He slowly lifted his head up. 

“Not—” 

“Dobby, no. No more, you are now ordered not to save Harry Potter’s life,” Draco said. 

Dobby stared at him.

“You are going to go apologize to Harry right now,” Draco ordered. “He is in the Hospital Wing. You will tell him it was you and you will explain to him why you did it. Now, go.”

“Yes, Master Draco,” Dobby said and vanished in a crack.

“Thank you,” Draco muttered into thin air. 

“What was that all about?” Hermione shirked. “Why was he so injured?”

“He did that to himself for disobeying orders. It’s what House Elves do…I don’t know why. It’s their instinct or something to hurt themselves for disobeying their masters.”

“Masters? Are they like slaves?”

Oh, no. Draco had drifted into the House Elf Liberation territory. Hermione put her hands on her hips and her stance changed for battle. 

“No. They like serving. It’s in their natures to serve and if they are unable to serve, they loose their will to live. It is how they are hard wired,” Draco explained. 

“Hard wired? That’s a Muggle term— do you know what it means?”

“Programed. Like those conputter things you told me about,” Draco explained. 

“Computer,” Hermione corrected, a pleased expression on her face. It morphed back into her concerned face. “Do they get paid? Days off?”

Draco shook his head. “No, they don’t want money or days off. They are offended greatly if you pay them or suggest they take a break. Like, really offended to the point they will treat you badly. Never offer to pay or a day off to a sane house elf.”

“But an insane one?”

“Yeah, you can pay them,” Draco offered. “If you were to ask Dobby, he’d take money and an afternoon off. Hell, he wants his freedom.”

“Then why not give it to him?”

“My father would kill me,” Draco replied. “Dobby’s been in the family for years. Dobby’s whole family is bound to us.” 

Hermione frowned. “It sounds like slavery.”

“It’s more like a magical contract. They want to serve us. Well, except Dobby. But there is always an exception to the rules. I mean, not all humans are the same, right?”

Hermione narrowed her eyes, but her hands left her hips. 

“Can I suggest one thing?”

“All right,” Hermione slowly agreed. 

“Research House Elves. Research their history, their magic and their way of life. Go to the kitchens and talk to the House Elves of Hogwarts. You can even speak to Dobby if you want.”

“I don’t know—”

“Ask Harry,” Draco quickly said. “The twins showed him last year where the kitchens are located. If you want to speak to Dobby, just ask me.” 

“All right. But it still sounds like slavery to me,” she huffed, turning on her heel and stomping out. 

Draco buried his hands in his hair. If memory served correctly, Dobby stopped trying to kill Harry after the Bludger Incident. Hopefully, things would play out the same for Dobby and he’d be set free. Dobby as a Free Elf made him a much better House Elf, Draco hated to admit. Even if he looked as if he had dressed in the dark. 

* * *

Draco and Hermione headed to the library on Sunday morning. Hermione was researching House Elves while Draco was writing his potions essay that was due on Monday. He was casually flipping pages when Harry burst into the library. He made a beeline for where they were seated, crashing into a table. 

“SHHH!” Madam Pince hissed in their direction. 

“Sorry,” Harry whispered, sinking into a chair next to Hermione. He noticed the books around her and frowned. “Why are you reading about House Elves?”

“It’s slavery,” she insisted.

“Sure,” Harry said. “Did you hear yet?”

“Hear what?”

“About Colin?”

“Harry!?” Hermione suddenly whispered loudly. “How is your arm?”

“Huh?”

“Your arm!”

“Oh, it’s fine. No, did you hear about Colin?”

“What about Colin? Did someone break his camera?” Draco asked, not looking up from his book. 

“Well, yeah. Last night I was woken up by your insane House Elf and he told me all this stuff and then said he would stop trying to save my life if I went home, but I said no, I wasn’t going home, as Hogwarts is my home, then he went all weird on me and begged me. I said I was safe here and I was doing something and the snake can’t hurt me, then he freaked out and Dumbledore showed up. So, your House Elf went away and I saw Dumbledore and McGonagall carrying in someone, who turned out to be Colin. He was frozen holding his camera in front of his face and the film was burned to a crisp.”

Hermione gasped, putting her hand over her mouth. “Poor Colin.”

“Poor Colin’s camera. He’ll be heart broken,” Draco drawled.

“Draco!” Hermione snapped.

“Sorry. Being Petrified isn’t the end of the world,” Draco muttered. 

“Anyways, we NEED to figure out how to stop this person with the diary. We need to figure out who this person is!” Harry urged, going into hero mode. He set his jaw, his green eyes blazed and he clenched his fist on the table. 

“I’ve been paying attention,” Draco started, closing the book he’d been reading before Harry shown up. “The only person I’ve noticed who is withdrawn and alone is Ginny Weasley.”

“Oh,” Hermione said, realization showing in her eyes. “I thought you were only talking to her because Atlanta’s gone.”

“That was part of it, but I started thinking she might have taken the diary,” Draco said. “Not stolen it, but might have found it. Harry, you said it looked like Atlanta’s side of the room exploded right?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah, her trunk looked like it had thrown up all over the room. And her sheets were a mess. I guess the diary could have gotten into one of the other girl’s areas or stuff, right?”

“Yes, that was what I was thinking. The other girls are all kind of close knit, but Ginny is always alone,” Draco pointed out. “It makes sense. Voldemort likes to isolate.”

“So, how do we…get the diary away from Ginny? I don’t fancy climbing up the slide again.”

Hermione giggled. “You set that off?”

“Yeah, but I was able to climb up,” Harry said. “Anyways, I don’t fancy digging through Ginny’s things.”

“We need to pay attention to her and try to keep an eye on her. We ought to invite her to eat with us. I think if Harry does it she won’t look so freaked out. She always looks like she thinks I’m going to hex her or something when I start talking to her.”

“She and Neville got along well,” Hermione pointed out. “Neville is very friendly.”

Draco nodded. “True.”

“I’m sure Neville will take over if you two continue to be friendly to her. Neville might not be the greatest at spell casting, but he’s observant,” Hermione offered.

“So, just so I’m clear, we think Ginny might have the diary and we need to keep an eye on her and try to steal the diary?”

Draco nodded. “I think so. But also keep an eye on other people in the school. It might be Ginny is shy and that’s why she’s alone. It might be nothing sinister.”

“True,” Hermione agreed, closing her book and opening a new one. “I’ll keep an eye on people in my house. What about the other two houses?”

“I’ll take Slytherin,” Draco volunteered.

“I’ll take Hufflepuff,” Harry said. “And I guess we’ll all look at Gryffindors?”

“It’s most likely a Gryffindor who has it,” Draco admitted. “Because Atlanta had the diary last.”

Hermione and Harry both nodded. 

* * *

The news of Colin Creevey’s Petrification spread like wild fire throughout the school. By Monday, everyone knew even if the professors had tried to keep it quiet. Monday morning found the school draped in a thick fog of rumor and suspicion. The first years moved in packs, making the job of looking for someone alone easy. There were very few people who stood alone. 

Draco carefully watched their prime suspect, Ginny Weasley. She looked downright distraught on Monday morning when Draco walked into the Great Hall. He quickly sat down next to her. 

“Hey, what’s up?”

Ginny opened and closed her mouth a few times, but no words came out. Draco frowned, unsure what to do. Ginny shook her head and muttered something Draco didn’t catch and darted off before he could stop her. 

“What did you do, mate?” one of the twins asked, plopping down across from him a dark look on his face.

“Nothing. I asked her how she was. She looked upset,” Draco said defensively.

“No need to jump us, mate,” the other twin said sitting down. 

“Just wanted to make sure you weren’t out for our little sister.”

“She looks really upset. And she’s always alone,” Draco pointed out, figuring if he stuck the twins on her, they’d keep a close eye on her as well. More eyes the better. 

“She is?”

Draco nodded. “I think she took the fact Atlanta went missing rather hard. I’ve been trying to be friendly.”

The twins nodded in unison. They then looked at one another, communicated something and took off. Draco stood and went to his usual spot at the table and ate his breakfast. 

Later on in the day, whenever Draco would spot Ginny, she was being trailed by the twins, who would randomly break out in fur or boils. Draco assumed they were attempting to make her laugh, but it wasn’t working. If anything, she looked more distraught. This went on for almost two weeks, till they twins took it too far and jumped out from behind a statue and Ginny screamed bloody murder, alerting the entire castle to her distress. 

Prefect Weasley appeared in the Common Room a short while later holding both twins by their ears. He was apoplectic with rage and shouted, “I am writing MOTHER!”

This seemed to be the threat to use in the Weasley family, as Ginny and the twins all begged him not to do this. Ginny insisted she was fine, the twins promised to stop trying to cheer her up and Prefect Weasley huffed. 

“I’m not sure that will help, Neville,” Draco commented, turning his attention away from the Weasley family drama to Neville, who was sitting with him in the Common Room that night. They were playing wizard’s chess, which neither of them was very good at, but both were finished with their homework and had nothing better to do. 

Neville looked at the large, smelly onion sitting on the table. It was next to the pointed purple crystal and rotting newt tail. Least to say, the smell was less than pleasant. 

“I don’t know. I’m as good as a Squib,” Neville worried, nibbling on his bottom lip. “They went for Filch first.”

“They took his cat,” Draco pointed out, moving his queen, who wasn’t happy about it in the least. 

“Well, I’m about as magical as a cat,” Neville grumbled.

“Nev, don’t say that,” Draco chided. “I think you need confidence. And maybe your own wand.”

Draco glanced at the beat up looking wand sitting next to Neville. 

“It’s my dad’s,” Neville whispered. 

Draco frowned, knowing what had happened to his parents. 

“I know, but…wands are….” Draco searched around for words for a moment. “A wand works best when it’s yours. When it picks you. Did it pick you?”

Neville frowned. “No. Gran handed it to me and said to make him proud.”

Draco felt bad now. He sighed. 

“I know you’re just trying to help, Draco,” Neville murmured, moving a pawn. 

“I know you have it in you to be great,” Draco said stubbornly. “You’re not a Squib.”

“I know,” Neville admitted. 

“All right, then can we get rid of the evil smelling onion?”

Neville eyed it for a moment. 

“And the rotting newt tail? It smells too.”

“Can I keep the crystal at least?”

“Yes.”

Draco picked up his wand and vanished the other two items from the table. Neville watched, his round face shining with amazement. 

“How did you do that?”

“Pardon?”

“You didn’t even say anything,” Neville said, his face looking awed and scared at the same time. 

Draco cursed himself eight ways to Sunday in his head. 

“I vanished them. I learned it last year. You know, to be able to vanish…things when we….took on Quirrellmort.”

Neville frowned for a moment, but didn’t say anything else. He moved a knight instead.

“If you want, Nev, I’ll help you with your spell work. But, I think it’s just confidence,” Draco insisted. 

In fact, Draco knew it was Neville’s lack of confidence that was holding him back. Sometime around fifth year, Neville gained confidence and by the time seventh year rolled around, Neville was a force to be reckoned with. 

“You’re serious? You will help me?”

Draco looked up from the chess board he’d been staring at and into Neville’s round, blue eyes. 

“Yes. Of course,” Draco said. “I’ll even help you in Potions if you want.”

“You’d risk sitting with me?” Neville asked. “Won’t Harry miss you?”

“I doubt Harry would mind if I told him I was helping you out,” Draco said. “Next class, I’ll switch with Seamus. If that’s fine with you.”

Neville nodded, looking happy.  


	16. Dueling Club

**Disclaimer: I fail to own Harry Potter, so if you know it, it’s JK’s and it is from _Chamber of Secrets_. **

* * *

“We staying for Christmas again this year?” Harry asked the second week of December. “McGonagall put the list up today.”

Draco worried his bottom lip. It was obvious Draco did not want to go home. Harry thought it was a little silly of Draco to avoid his house, as it was large enough if they wanted they’d never see his father. They had hardly seen him except for meals the entire summer when Harry had come to stay. 

“Your mum invited me to your house for break,” Harry went on, staring across the Common Room at Ginny Weasley, who was writing quickly on a piece parchment, surrounded by books. Ginny reminded Harry a little of Hermione, as every time he saw the youngest Weasley, she was surrounded by stacks of books and doing homework. Draco was right in the fact she was always alone, but Harry didn’t think it was against her will or anything.  

“There’s not a reason to stay,” Draco admitted. “If you want, we can go.”

“Cool!”

“I’ll let Mother know,” Draco said, almost sounding defeated. 

Harry gave him a bright smile and assured Draco it’d be fine. Brilliant, in fact. 

Harry was a bit excited to see what the holidays at the Malfoys would be like. He wrote to Aunt Narcissa and informed her he was happy to come for the holidays and asked if there was anything he ought to bring. A week later when her reply showed up, Harry was glad he’d asked.

“Dress robes? Why do I need dress robes?” Harry asked, frowning at the list of items he’d need to bring. “Three pairs? Dress shoes? I need a gift for each party?”

Draco snorted. “Oops. I forgot to tell you what the holidays entail as a pureblood of our standing. We’ve got several holiday balls to attend, plus the traditional family dinner. I’m not sure what balls we were invited to…did she list them for you?”

Harry nodded. “Your family is having one on Christmas evening, the Blacks are having one…they’re having a party while their daughter is missing?” 

Draco shrugged.

“The other one? You said three pairs.”

“Nott’s. Urg. I don’t want to go to the Nott’s. I don’t want to give Nott a present.”

“It’s not an actual present. Give me that.”

Harry handed him the letter. Draco read quietly and nodded.

“The Nott’s are taking toys or money for needy children. That is bland. The Black’s are asking for money to donate to St. Mungo’s and you don’t need to do anything for our family’s party. We can go get a few coins, I know my mother has the fancy sacks and you’ll be set. Oh, look, you actually _got_ invited on your own.”

“What?” Harry asked, taking the letter from Draco. He had noticed it was thicker than usual. He looked over the invitations to the three balls, all gold, silver and green. Each one out did the other one, the Nott’s being the least formal looking and the Black’s New Years Eve invitation (done in all silver with black writing) was by far the fanciest. He stared at his name written in calligraphy and felt almost dizzy.

They were all addressed to Lord Harry James Potter, Head of the Ancient and Most Nobel House of Potter. Harry felt like royalty, which made him feel anxious and caused him to turn beet red. 

Harry stuffed the invitations and letter into his bag. Draco finished off his tea and the boys stood, exiting the Great Hall. Hermione caught up with them, apologizing for not joining them at breakfast. She began to tell them about the book she’d been reading at breakfast, but stopped suddenly. 

“What are they staring at?”

Harry looked in the direction Hermione was pointing. There was a small knot of people gathered around a notice board in the Entrance Hall. Seamus and Dean turned around and began to beckon him over, so Harry started over. Both boys looked excited.

“They’re starting a Dueling Club!” Seamus announced as Harry drew closer. “First meeting is tonight! I wouldn’t mind dueling lessons. Might come in handy later on.” 

“Do you reckon Slytherin’s monster can duel?” drawled a voice somewhere above Harry’s shoulder. 

Harry turned around to find a very tall Ron Weasley and Blaise Zabini standing behind him, reading the notice board over his head. 

Harry hated being so short. He had seen pictures of his father (thanks to a combined effort of Aunt Narcissa and Hagrid to make a scrap book for him) and he was not short in the least. Aunt Narcissa knew how tall all his friends had been and James Potter was just as tall as his friends, who were tall. She kept assuring Harry he’d get a growth spurt at some point. 

Harry was doubtful. He had always been skinny, knobby and short. 

“Now, Ronald, it might be able to,” Blaise said lazily. “Still, even if it cannot, dueling is useful— is it not, Malfoy?”

Draco startled at being addressed by a Slytherin so cordially. 

“Yes, Zabini, I supposed it would be,” Draco drawled in the same manner. 

Harry did not enjoy that tone. Draco only brought out when he was either being super sarcastic or talking to someone from his old crowd. Draco also shifted how he held himself when he was in the presence of other purebloods like Zabini. He held himself stiffly, his hands clasped behind his back and his pointed chin jutting out a bit. 

“Shall we go?” Zabini asked Weasley. 

“I don’t see why not,” Weasley remarked. “I might get to duel Nott finally.”

“Ah, he set you up too, I see,” Draco remarked, smirk on his face. “He tried that with Harry as well.”

Weasley bristled for a moment. He looked like he was about to shout and yell, but blinked. He seemed to realize who he was speaking to and clammed up. 

“I take it we’ll see you there?” Zabini asked politely, looking from Draco to Harry and then finally Hermione.

Hermione’s cheeks tinged pink. She nodded.  

“Sure,” Harry replied, looking up at Zabini.

Why was everyone so tall?

“I think it would be very useful,” Hermione remarked, a careful tone to her voice. It left her voice completely with her next remark. “They might teach us new spells!”

Zabini chuckled, raising an eyebrow that Hermione missed completely as she read the notice more closely. 

“We’ll see you at eight then, Miss Granger,” Zabini said, giving a short bow with his head. “Malfoy. Potter.” 

Draco frowned, his body loosening a bit as Zabini and Weasley retreated. 

“Are they up to something?” Harry asked. 

“I have no idea,” Draco remarked.

“Oh, really,” Hermione chided, a little pink in the cheeks again. “They are nice. They aren’t like the other Slytherins at all. Well, the ones that all hang around with Nott. Or Nott hangs around with. Blaise and Ronald are actually very polite and nice. They never call me names or make fun of me.”

“Oh, and you’re on first name basis with them?” Draco asked, swelling up a bit. 

Shocked, both Harry and Hermione blinked at Draco. He seemed…jealous. He shook his white blond hair out of his eyes and turned sharply, stalking across the Entrance Hall and vanishing up the stairs. 

“What’s his problem?” Hermione whispered. “It’s not like I’m all that friendly with them. I only see them in the library sometimes. And they are in a few of my classes. Blaise is usually the only other person who speaks to me in class…since I only have Charms with you and Draco.”

Harry put and arm around Hermione’s shoulder, happy she was still his height. 

“Might have to do more with the fact they are Slytherins than you speaking to them,” Harry suggested. “Let’s go get him. You know he’s frustrated because we’ve been getting nowhere in tracking down the diary.”

Hermione nodded slowly. “I honestly don’t think Ginny Weasley has it. I think she’s simply studious.” 

* * *

“I wonder who’ll be teaching us?” Harry asked as he and Draco neared the Great Hall at eight that evening. Harry waved when he spotted Hermione standing outside the doors waiting. He repeated his question to Hermione, having gotten no answer out of Draco. Draco was wearing his blank mask, and looking less than excited about the prospect of dueling. 

“Someone told me Flitwick was a dueling champion when he was young,” Hermione said. She hooked her arm with Draco. “Maybe it’ll be him.”

The trio entered the Great Hall, the thousands of floating candles overhead still present, but all the House tables removed. Harry glanced up at the ceiling, which reflected the velvety black night sky. He turned his attention to making his way through the crowd after Draco and Hermione. 

He should have hooked his arm with Draco’s too, as he was moving through the crowd easily compared to Harry. Harry dodged his fellow students managing to keep up with Draco and Hermione. They worked their way to the front near the golden stage that had been set up along one wall. 

“As long as it’s not—” Harry abruptly stopped speaking, ramming into Draco’s back. “Oomph.”

“As long as it’s not who?” Hermione asked, turning to peer at Harry. 

Harry opened his mouth to say who he didn’t want to be teaching Dueling, but never voiced the words as the man he least wanted to see appeared on the stage, wearing robes of deep plum with a matching hat, which as always sat tilted to the side on his head. He was followed out by Harry’s other least favorite professor in the world: Severus Snape. 

Snape wore his usual billowing black robes, which matched his hair and personality. 

Harry groaned and slouched. He glanced around and noted most of the guys looked less than thrilled with the appearance of Lockhart and Snape, while the females all were looking wide eyed and excited. 

Just like Hermione. 

Lockhart waved his arms over his head, calling for silence. “Gather round! Gather round all! Can everyone see me?”

“They can see you on Mars,” someone snickered to Harry’s left. 

“Can you all hear me? Excellent!”

Lockhart clapped his hands together and twirled his wand in his hands, promptly dropping it. He ignored this small problem and went on talking. 

“Now, Professor Dumbledore has granted me permission to start this little dueling club! What is the point of dueling club? Well, it’s to train you up in case you ever need to defend yourselves as I have defended myself on countless occasions!”

He paused dramatically. Harry wanted to stuff cotton into his ears.

“Of course, full details of my wondrous achievements can be found in my published works!”

Wink, wink, nudge, nudge, blinding smile. 

“Let me introduce my assistant, Professor Snape,” Lockhart said, waving a dramatic arm at Snape and flashing a wide smile. “He tells me he knows a tiny little bit about dueling himself. He’s sportingly agreed to help me with a little demonstration before we begin. Now, I don’t want you to worry— you’ll still have your Potions Master when I’m through with him! Never fear!”

“Wouldn’t be lovely if they finished one another off?” Harry mused. 

He got the stink eye from both Draco and Hermione. 

Harry turned his attention to the stage, where Snape’s upper lip was curling. Lockhart was oblivious to this clearly, as if Snape was looking at Harry in that manner, Harry would be trying to find somewhere to hide before Snape killed him. 

Lockhart swooped down, grabbing his wand back up. He continued to chatter on, explaining how one must bow to his opponent before starting a duel. Lockhart gave a large, dramatic bow, his nose almost touching his knees. Snape lowered his head a fraction of an inch. Lockhart stood up with a flourish, twirled his hands for some reason and jumped up in what Harry assumed he thought was Attack Mode.

“As you see, we are holding our wands in the accepted combative position,” Lockhart explained to the now silent crowd.

Snape was holding his wand out like a sword, looking less foolish than how Lockhart was standing. 

“On the count of three, we will cast our first spells. Neither of us will be aiming to kill, of course,” Lockhart went on, giving off a loud chuckle.  

Harry was pretty sure Snape was out to kill, judging by the look of glee on his face. Draco snorted, which got his foot stomped on by Hermione. 

“One, two, three!”

The pair swung their wands above their heads and aimed. Well, Snape aimed. Snape shot off a spell long before Lockhart even managed to stop flourishing his wand. 

“ _Expelliarmus!_ ” Snape cried, a flash of scarlet light shooting out of his wand.

Harry watched happily as Lockhart was blasted off his feet, flying backwards and landing in a heap of purple robes. Lockhart remained down for a moment.

“Do you think he’s all right?” Hermione asked, dropping Draco’s arm so she could dance on her tip toes to see if Lockhart was okay. 

“Who cares?” Draco and Harry said in unison. 

Lockhart pushed his robes from his face and smoothed them down before slowly getting to his feet. His hand went to his head and found his hat missing. He gave a toothy smile to the girl who had caught it and handed it back to him. He smoothed his hair before putting his hat back on. He squared his shoulders before striding back towards Snape.

“Well, there you have it! That was a Disarming Charm— as you see, I’ve lost my wand.”

He looked around till he spotted Lavender Brown, who handed it back to him.

“Ah, thank you, Miss Brown,” he said, still smiling. He took a breath and pressed on, smile never falling from his lips. “Yes, an excellent idea to show them that, Professor Snape. If you don’t mind my saying so, it was very obvious what you were about to do. If I had wanted to stop you, it would have been all too easy!”

Snape appeared as if he was going to murder Lockhart any second. 

“However, I thought it best to let them see what that spell did,” Lockhart announced. He turned his attention to the crowd. “Enough demonstrating. I’m going to come amongst you now and put you all into pairs! Professor Snape, if you could please help.”

The pair of professors moved through the crowd. Neville was teamed up with Justin Finch-Fletchley. Harry was about to move closer to Draco so they’d be paired up, but Snape grabbed him by the shoulder and steered him away from Draco. 

“I think not, Potter. I think you best partner with Nott here,” Snape sneered, thrusting Harry in front of Nott. “Miss Granger, you can partner with Miss Bulstrode. Mr. Malfoy, why don’t you partner with Mr. Weasley.”

Harry peered over his shoulder to find Weasley making his way over to Draco, a look of annoyance on his face. Hermione looked frightened as she stared at Bulstrode. Then again, Bulstrode kind of resembled a troll. 

“Potter,” Nott jeered. 

Harry turned around to find Nott smirking in a manner Harry didn’t care for. 

“Nott.”

“Face your partners!” Lockhart called out, standing on the platform again. “And bow!”

Harry did not want to take his eyes off Nott, so he jerked his head in a similar fashion Snape had used. Nott did the same, sneering. 

“Wands at the ready!” shouted Lockhart. “When I count to three, cast your charms to Disarm your opponents. Remember, only disarm them!” 

Harry doubted everyone was going to stick with disarming only. 

Harry went through the motions to stand at the ready, but Nott shot off his disarming spell the moment Lockhart reached number two. Since Harry wasn’t ready, the spell hit him hard. Nott’s aim wasn’t very good, unless he had been aiming for Harry’s head, as Harry felt like he’d been whacked over the head with a frying pan. Harry stumbled backwards, but kept his wand in his hand. Frowning, Harry quickly got back into position and sent off the first spell that came to mind. 

“ _Rictuspempra!_ ”

A jet of silver light hit Nott in the stomach and he doubled over.

“I said Disarm only!” Lockhart shouted in alarm over the battling crowd.

No one seemed to have listened. The whole hall was in chaos. 

Nott sank to his knees and looked like he was trying his best not to succumb to the Tickling Charm Harry had hit him with, but failed miserably. Soon, Nott was on the ground laughing so hard he couldn’t move. Harry remained on guard, knowing the charm wouldn’t hold forever. He knew he ought to send another spell while Nott was down for the count, but that felt a bit un-sportsman like for Harry’s taste, so he waited. Before the charm wore off, Nott cast his next spell between laughs. 

“ _Tarantallegra_!”

“ _Protego_!” Harry shouted without thinking, a shield instantly appearing before him. Nott’s spell bounced off Harry’s shield and hit Nott, whose feet began dancing nonstop while he was still struggling with the Tickling Charm. 

“Finite Incantatem!” 

Harry startled as his shield vanished. Nott stopped dancing and laughing. Panting for breath, Nott slowly got to his feet while Snape stared at Harry in a manner that made Harry wish he was under a rock. Snape only stopped attempting to burn Harry alive with his eyes when something exploded, causing a greenish smoke to sweep through the Great Hall. Harry whirled around to find Neville and Justin on the ground, panting. Draco and Weasley were still dueling with one another. It was clear Draco was winning. Draco shouted the Disarming spell and Weasley’s wand flew the air and right into Draco’s hand. Weasley stumbled backwards, till he crashed into the students behind him. 

“Hermione!” Draco suddenly shouted, throwing Weasley’s wand at him. 

Harry startled again as Snape swept passed him. Hermione and her troll partner weren’t even dueling. Bulstrode had Hermione in a headlock while Hermione whimpered in pain. Draco yanked Bulstrode off Hermione. Bulstrode was almost bigger than Draco, but he slung her off as if she weighed nothing. Hermione collapsed to the ground on all fours. Draco fell to the ground next to her as Snape arrived, giving Bulstrode a dark look. However, he didn’t reprimand Bulstrode or anything, simply glared.

“Dear, dear,” Lockhart said, skittering through the crowd, looking at the aftermath of the duels. 

Everyone looked worse for wear. Several people were bleeding and many more had various bruises appearing on their faces. Almost everyone looked rumpled and disheveled. Harry was about to dart across the room to where Draco was helping Hermione stand when Lockhart grabbed him, steering him towards the stage. 

“I think I’d better teach you how to block unfriendly spells,” Lockhart announced. “Harry here already seems to know how, judging by the look of him!”

Harry realized he was the only person who looked perfectly normal. Even Draco looked mussed. 

Lockhart all but picked up Harry and set him on the stage before turning back to the crowd. Harry shrunk backwards a bit under the eyes of everyone in the hall. Snape was glaring at Harry, a malevolent glint in his eyes. 

Oh, Harry was going to die. 

“Why don’t you have him go up against Weasley,” Snape suggested, shoving Weasley forward. 

“Excellent idea!” Lockhart shouted. 

Weasley was allowed to keep his pride and get up on the platform under his own power. Snape glided across the floor from where Draco and Hermione were standing and took his spot next to Weasley, while Lockhart appeared at Harry’s side. 

“Now, Harry, when Ronald points his wand at you, you do this!”

Lockhart raised his own wand, waved it around in a rather complicated manner and dropped it promptly. Harry frowned deeply, wondering why if Lockhart knew he could block spells already was he showing him, well, nothing. Unless that was a clever way to drop your hand and look like a pounce. 

“Whoops! My wand is a little overexcited.”

Snape bent over a bit and whispered something to Weasley. Weasley looked at his Head of House with a quirked eyebrow before shrugging as if he didn’t care what Snape had to say. 

“All right, step up!” Lockhart announced, pushing Harry forward. 

Weasley stepped forward with ease and grace. Harry, of course, stumbled and almost tripped due to Lockhart’s shove. He righted himself, noting Weasley ignored his missteps and looked completely bored. 

“Scared, Potter?” Nott asked, standing in the front row looking eager. 

“You wish,” Harry muttered out of the corner of his mouth, eyes locked on Weasley.

“Just do as I did before, Harry, and you’ll be fine!” Lockhart merrily announced.

“What? Drop my wand?” Harry muttered. Weasley’s mouth hitched up a bit on the right side.

“On the count of three!”

Harry sighed and got into the stance. Weasley did the same, suddenly smirking. 

“Three, two, one!”

Weasley raised his wand up and bellowed, _“Serpensortia!_ ”

The end of his wand exploded and a long, black snake shot out the end. It fell heavily near Harry’s feet and raised itself up to strike. Harry vaguely registered the fact there were people in the crowd screaming.

 _“Idiot humans! What am I doing here!_ ” the snake hissed angrily.

“Don’t move, Potter,” Snape lazily drawled, clearly enjoying the sight of Harry and the angry snake. “I’ll get rid of it.”

“Allow me!” Lockhart shouted.

“NO!” Harry shouted, turning around.

He wasn’t fast enough. Lockhart brandished his wand at the snake and there was a loud bang, followed by the snake flying ten feet into the air. The snake did not like this one bit, especially after it landed back on the stage with a loud smack. Enraged, it hissed and shot straight at the closet person: Justin.

“Leave him alone!” Harry shouted without thinking.

The snake stopped short of attacking Justin, turning its head in Harry’s direction. 

“ _You are a speaker_ ,” the snake stated flatly. 

Harry sighed, mentally chiding himself. His secret was out. 

“ _Yeah. I am. Can you leave him alone. I’m sure Professor Snape will put you back where you came from shortly._ ”

The snake slithered towards Harry and curled up at his feet. 

“ _What if I don’t want to go back?_ ”

“ _Huh? Why would you want to stay here?_ ”

“ _I like you_ ,” the snake announced, slithering out of the coil and wrapping itself around Harry’s leg. “ _You smell nice._ ” 

Why did snakes keep telling him he smelled good? Harry wasn’t aware he smelled like anything. 

“ _Er…_ ”

Harry finally looked up and noticed everyone was staring at him. Most people looked alarmed. Some people looked shocked. Quite a few were staring at Harry as if he were evil. Harry glanced at Draco, who had one hand over his face and was shaking his head. Harry worried his bottom lip. 

“Potter, what are you doing?” Snape asked. 

“Standing here with a snake wrapped around my leg,” Harry offered. 

Snape stared at Harry. It was shrewd and calculating. The crowd began to mutter at this point, which sounded ominous. 

“Did you know you could speak to snakes, Potter?”

Harry wasn’t sure what to say, so he looked at Draco, who shook his head a fraction of an inch quickly. 

“No,” Harry lied. 

Snape narrowed his eyes. 

“Can I keep it?”

Snape blinked. Draco groaned.

“It wants to stay with me,” Harry explained, bending over and offering his arm to the snake. The snake instantly exchanged his leg for his arm. It wound its way around his arm and Harry stood up.

“No. Students are not allowed pet snakes,” Snape snapped.

Harry frowned. He looked at the snake. “ _Sorry. I can’t keep you_.”

“ _That is unfair. You are better than that man_.”

Harry stared at the snake in confusion. “ _He’s an adult. I’m at kid in school.”_

Harry assumed the snake didn’t know what school happened to be, as he felt like the snake was giving him a rather blank look. 

“ _I’m going to put you down and, er, I’ll see you later._ ”

“ _Goodbye speaker_ ,” the snake said, sounding sad. 

Harry set the snake down. Instantly Snape waved his wand and the snake vanished. 

“Well, I think that’s all for this evening!” Lockhart shouted in a rather high pitched voice. 

Lockhart ran off, while most of the crowd was still staring at Harry as if he were Voldemort or a two headed monster. Draco appeared in front of him, grabbed his arm and dragged him from the Great Hall. They were halfway up the stairs by the time Hermione caught up with them. 

“You had to go and show the school you can talk to snakes!” Draco shouted. “Just had to go and do that! Why couldn’t you just stay silent and let Snape get rid of it?”

“The snake was very upset,” Harry tried to explain. He tugged his arm, but Draco refused to stop or let go of him. 

“Draco, calm down! Harry didn’t mean to do that! He was trying to help!”

“Hermione! Everyone is going to think Harry’s the Heir of Slytherin!”

Draco finally stopped moving after the staircase they was on started swinging around. Harry lost his balanced and crashed into Draco. Hermione crashed into Harry and they all wound up in a heap on the stairs.

“Draco, isn’t Harry the Heir of Slytherin according to the snake in, er, the basement?” Hermione asked quietly, helping Harry to his feet. 

Draco stood up on his own, dusting himself off. He raked a hand through his hair and ground his teeth together. 

“Technically.”

“Well, then…”

“But he is not the one who is attacking fellow students with the snake. And, it’s best if no one knows Harry has control over a basilisk that lives in the…what did you call it? Basement?” Draco asked as the stairs came to a stop. 

Hermione nodded. “Basement. Celler. Chamber under the school. Dark, dank place with no light.”

Draco turned and stalked off. 

Hermione and Harry exchanged looks and chased after him. 

“I know you said it’s a trait that Dark wizards tend to have, but Harry’s not a Dark wizard and isn’t descended from Dark wizards,” Hermione started, as she and Harry hurried to keep up with Draco’s long strides. “He’s a Potter. They have always been a Light family.”

Draco came to an abrupt stop, spinning around. He was rather pale. 

“How come you can speak to snakes?” Draco asked, staring down at Harry. 

Harry shrugged. “I don’t know. Why can’t you?”

“Because no one in my family has ever been able to. It’s a magical blood trait,” Draco said. “Someone you are blood related to must have the skill. No one in the Potter family has ever had that skill. The only known family with this skill has been the Slytherins.”

“So, why _can_ Harry speak to snakes?” Hermione asked quietly, looking behind her to make sure they were still alone. “Maybe at some point the Potter’s crossed a bloodline that mixed with Slytherins?”

The students were leaving the Great Hall, the noise of them moving through the school reaching the trio. Draco looked between Harry and Hermione, an anxious expression painting his features. 

“I don’t know.”

That statement caused Draco to look more frightened than he had last year when they’d met Medusa for the first time. 


	17. A Bit Not Right

**Disclaimer: If you know it, I do not own it. If you do know it, it’s from _Chamber of Secrets_ by JKR.**

* * *

The next day was tough on Harry. Every where he went, people whispered and stared. It was like the first weeks of school last year when the shock of having Harry Potter at Hogwarts was a novelty— only no one was giggling now. They were hostile, sending accusing stares at Harry. 

Draco felt bad for Harry, yet had the undeniable urge to rub it in his face as it was due to Harry’s own lack of forethought that had gotten him in this trouble. If Harry had resisted the urge to befriend a mad snake, no one would know he could speak to snake. Just once, as Draco did not entertain the idea that the vivid green snake in the bowels of the school was the first snake Harry had befriended. He was sure there were countless snakes scattered over England who counted Harry Potter as a friend. 

No wonder the hat wanted to put Harry in Slytherin. 

“They think I’m the Heir of Slytherin,” Harry grumbled, collapsing into a chair in the Gryffindor Common Room the evening after his snake charming performance at Dueling Club. “I cannot wait till we go on break. I’m glad we’re going to your house, even if I need three pairs of dress robes. I don’t even own three pairs.”

“You can borrow mine. We’ll shrink them to fit,” Draco said.

Harry kicked him half heartedly. 

“What are they saying?” Draco inquired, looking up from the time travel book. It was dense and confusing. He almost swore it was written in another language other than English. He had had the bloody book for almost two months and was working through chapter three out of forty seven. 

“That I’ve marked Justin for death,” Harry grumbled. “I overheard Ernie MacMillian in the library just now telling his fellow Hufflepuffs all about my vendetta against Justin.”

Draco quirked an eyebrow as the use of the word _vendetta_. He highly doubted a Hufflepuff would used that word. Especially a second year Hufflepuff. Or any second year for that matter. 

“He says you’ve influenced me to hate Muggles and Muggleborns because you’re this evil Dark Lord or something!”

“Who is this person?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “He is in our group for Herbology. He’s the one who is always staring at you like he expects you to start hexing people left and right. I’m pretty sure the first time we worked with them he squeaked every time you looked at Justin.”

Draco’s eyes went wide, remembering. “That kid has you upset?”

“He told Justin to hide in their Common Room to stay safe from me! I guess I’ve marked Justin because he let it slip he’s a Muggleborn in front of you. Evidently MacMillian was really upset when Justin said he had been heading to Eton. All I took from that was he was posh! He should have gone to bloody Eton, the tosser!”

“Harry, calm down,” Draco said softly. He could tell Harry was about to explode. 

Several near by people startled and upset their belongings at Harry’s outburst. Draco glanced around. Quite a few Gryffindors were eyeing the pair, clearly trying to eavesdrop. 

“The people who get petrified are connected to me!” Harry shouted, not calming down. 

“How was Mrs. Norris a person and connected to you?”

Harry deflated. “In no way. But, you can’t deny Creevey was annoying me. And everyone is saying I’m responsible for Atlanta Black’s disappearance. Evidently, you have taught me a lot of Dark Arts and have ruined the Boy-Who-Lived.” 

“We know that is a lie,” Draco reminded him. “You were mental when I met you, oh, Boy-Who-Has-A-Death-Wish.”

Harry snorted, a small smile appearing on his lips. It quickly fell. 

“MacMillian says that it was Dark magic that allowed me to blast Voldemort into smithereens. The fact I speak Parseltounge is just the final piece of evidence needed to prove  I’m a Dark wizard. Then he started saying all these horrible things about your family and I left.”

“You are not a Dark wizard and my family isn’t the greatest,” Draco snapped, slamming his book. While he might have likely agreed with whatever was being said, Draco still did not care for someone else to be saying it. Especially someone like Ernie  MacMillian. “Don’t listen to what other people say about you, Harry. They don’t know you. And they certainly don’t know me.”

“Your mum is nice,” Harry muttered. “And Dobby’s fine when he’s not saving my life.” 

“True,” Draco agreed. “Most of my family’s dark reputation comes from what my father got up to in the last war and the fact my grandfather was very vocal about his dislike for Muggles. Your past doesn’t dictate who you are any more than mine does. Remember that, Harry. It is who you are at this very moment that is important. You are not a Dark wizard, nor am I. If things go right, we’ll be a lovely grey mixture, as like everything else in the world, even magic needs to be balanced to be properly useful.”  

Harry sighed deeply, running a hand over his face. “Why can’t things just go normal?”

“There is no normal with you, Insane One,” Draco said. “Let’s head down to the kitchens. You know where they are right?”

“Yeah. What do you want?”

“I don’t know. Food,” Draco offered. “Chocolate.” 

Draco mostly wanted to escape to somewhere people wouldn’t stare at Harry like he was going to go evil at any second. Well, the House Elves might stare, but House Elves loved Harry. They’d never entertain he was a new Dark Lord rising. 

Harry pushed himself out of the chair and waited while Draco dumped his book in his trunk upstairs. Draco appeared downstairs and the boys headed out. Harry shoved his hands into his pockets and didn’t say anything as they walked. He looked to be brooding, so Draco let him be. They turned the corner and Draco shivered. While the castle was somewhat drafty in the winter, the particular hallway they were in wasn’t one of the draftier ones. There was no reason for goosebumps to be breaking out all over Draco’s body. There was also no reason for it to be so dark. All the torches seemed to be out. 

After walking a few more feet into deeper darkness, Draco grabbed Harry’s arm. 

“Wait. Something’s wrong.”

“That window’s open,” Harry commented, pointing to a wide open window that was flapping in the wind. Snow was blowing in through the window, along with an icy draft. Harry hurried over to the window to pull it shut, but didn’t make it. 

“Oof,” he huffed out, falling flat on his face.

Draco waved his wand, shutting the window. He lit the torches that had been extinguished by the open window and gasped upon finding what Harry had  tripped over. 

Harry turned himself around, letting out a high pitched squeak-like noise, scrambling backwards. 

Justin Finch-Fletchley was lying on the floor, channeling a marble statue. He had a look of shock on his face. 

Harry pushed himself to his feet and took a step backwards.

“Harry! Stop!”

Harry froze.

“What?”

“Turn around. Slowly.”

Harry followed Draco’s suggestion and turned around slowly. 

“How is that possible? Nick’s dead!”

Harry slowly moved around Nearly Headless Nick, who was no longer pearly-white and transparent. He was black and smoky, almost solid, and floating immobile about six inches off the ground. The expression on Nick’s face was similar to the one worn by Finch-Fletchley. Draco quickly moved around the body on the ground and grabbed Harry’s arm, towing him away from the scene a bit.

“What should we do?” Harry asked. He was breathing quickly and shallowly, looking very pale. 

“I think it’s best we tell— ”

Draco never finished, as Peeves chose that moment to show up and tell the world there was an attack. Soon enough, the entire school was upon them. Harry pushed himself into Draco’s side and looked like a lost child under all the hate based stares coming from his classmates. 

“Caught in the act!” MacMillion shouted, pushing his way through the crowd. “I knew you had it out for Justin because he’s Muggleborn!”

“Oh, shut up,” Draco snapped.

“I bet you’re happy, Malfoy! Being the Heir of Slytherin’s best friend and taking down Muggleborns!”

“SHUT UP!” Harry shouted, moving from behind Draco. Draco grabbed Harry, pinning his arms to his side and preventing him from launching himself at MacMillian.

“What is going on here?” McGonagall demanded, moving through the crowd. “What are you all doing out of your Common Rooms? It’s almost curfew?”

No one answered. Peeves started bobbing in the air, singing a horrible song about Harry being a killer to fill the silence. 

“That’s enough, Peeves!” McGonagall barked. 

Peeves zoomed away after sticking out his tongue. 

“Everyone, back to your Common Rooms!” McGongall barked at everyone else. “That means you too, Mr. Malfoy.”

“Professor,” Draco started, but stopped when McGonagall looked like she was going to kill him. “I’ll wait for you in the Common Room, Harry.”

He patted Harry on his shoulder and hurried back to Gryffindor Tower. 

* * *

The news of the attack on Justin and Nearly Headless Nick traveled faster than Draco would have imagined possible. By the time Draco had reached the tower, everyone knew about it. Draco was pelted with questions, which he only answered by stating Harry hadn’t done anything. Not wanting to sit in the Common Room, he went up to the dormitory to wait for Harry to return. Neville showed up and sat down on his own bed and waited with Draco in silence.

Harry returned about a half hour later, looking somewhat pale. 

“So?” Draco asked. 

Harry glanced at Neville, who looked politely away and opened a book. 

“McGonagall took me to see the headmaster,” Harry said quietly, climbing onto Draco’s bed. He settled in. He lowered his voice and said, “I…I put the Sorting Hat on again.”

“You did?”

“Yeah. It talked to me. Remember how I mentioned it wanted to put me in Slytherin?” Draco nodded. “Well, I asked it if it ought to have, since this whole Heir of Slytherin thing came up.”

“What did it say?”

“I would have done well in Slytherin,” Harry grumbled. “It’s wrong. I’m a Gryffindor.”

Draco tried his hardest not to laugh. Once he had suppressed the urge to laugh, he nodded. “Yeah, you are. Don’t worry. What did the headmaster say?”

“Well, after his bird exploded, he asked me if there was anything I wanted to tell him,” Harry said quietly.

“His bird exploded?”

“He’s got a phoenix. They burn up, I guess, and are reborn?”

Draco nodded. 

“So, he asked if there was anything I wanted to tell him,” Harry repeated. “Then he kind of just looked at me.”

“Did you tell him?”

“No.”

Draco wasn’t sure if this was a good thing or a bad thing.

“What should I tell him? I am the Heir of Slytherin, but I’m not setting Medusa on people? I know you think I’m mental, but I’m not that mad,” Harry insisted in a whisper, eyes darting over to Neville, who was still reading his book. “What did you think he wanted me to tell him?”

Draco shrugged helplessly. He was really at a loss. While he knew Dumbledore was brilliant, he honestly wasn’t sure what Dumbledore could do in this matter. There wasn’t anything anyone could do till the diary was found.

“We need to find the diary,” Harry insisted, flopping backwards.

“I know. After Christmas break, we’ll search…again,” Draco offered. 

Harry made a noise of frustration. Draco cleared his throat. Neville shut his book and asked, “Want to play Exploding Snap?”

Harry shot into a seated position and said, “Sure.”

“Come on over, Nev,” Draco offered, motioning for Neville to join them. 

* * *

Christmas break passed in a blur of parties and food. Before Draco knew it, he was wearing a brand new pair of dress robes and standing in the Black’s London town house waiting to ring in the New Year. 

“I hate you.”

Draco glanced at Harry, who was wearing a pair of dress robes that had belonged to Draco that no longer fit Draco, but fit Harry perfectly. They were bottled green and made those annoyingly emerald eyes even greener. Somehow, Narcissa had managed to tame Harry’s hair for the evening, as Harry looked like a proper pureblood for once. Draco did as well, as she had had a House Elf attack Draco’s hair with a pair of scissors, so Draco didn’t look like a street urchin any longer. 

“I hate myself as well,” Draco agreed, raising his champagne flute of butter beer to Harry. “Is it midnight yet?”

“No. It’s eight at night,” Harry muttered.

Draco was slouched rather improperly in a chair in the corner of the ballroom that had magically appeared in the town home. Harry was leaning against the wall behind him, arms crossed and looking put out. Draco figured it was understandable as since the Malfoys had arrived, Altair Black had been parading Harry Potter around for his guests. Draco wasn’t sure how Harry had managed to escape. 

“This would be so much better if Atlanta were here,” Harry said. 

“Yeah, I know. Want to escape upstairs? I bet we might be able to get into Atlanta’s room. There’s one of those things that shows moving pictures in there I think.”

“Television,” Harry reminded Draco. “Also known as TV or telly.”

Draco shook his head, not really caring. 

He pushed himself out of his chair, setting the flute of juice down on a random table. Together, Harry and Draco snuck out of the ballroom. It was dark throughout rest of the house, more than likely to discourage people from wandering about. Having visited often during the summer, the boys knew their way around even in the dark. The pair easily reached the stairs. Harry let out a sigh of relief as they began to climb the stairs. They reached the first floor and were about to cross the landing to Atlanta’s room when whispering reached Draco’s ears. Draco put up his hand to pause Harry. Harry raised his eyebrows in question and Draco used his index finger to indicate to his ear and pointed upwards. 

Realization dawned on Harry. 

The boys quietly crept around to the stairs that lead to the second floor and noticed two tall figures standing in the dimly lit landing above them. 

“Are you sure?” hissed a low voice.

“Of course,” said a cold voice.

Draco knew that voice. It belonged to his father.

“He’ll be gone by spring. There was yet another attack right before the holidays,” Lucius said, not bothering to quiet his voice. He sounded pleased. 

Harry stared at Draco. 

“You know they will allow you sack him?”

“Of course. I know enough to blackmail everyone who is against me on the board,” Lucius drawled. 

“Well, when you succeed, I will applaud you,” the first voice said in a normal volume, the crystal clear American accent appearing for the first time.

Harry and Draco both dropped open their mouths. 

It was Altair Black. 

“I think instead of using your blackmail, you might use the fact my daughter is missing,” Altair offered casually. “I know I don’t want a headmaster in charge who misplaces children, then allows them to be attacked. Not a safe place, that school.” 

Lucius snorted. “When is she supposed to return?”

“Dumbledore either doesn't know or refused to share,” Altair said as if he didn’t care. “You know that old geezer. He speaks in riddles. You can’t get a straight answer out of him. Life would be so much easier if that scary lady was in charge. She’s blunt and to the point.”

“McGonagall?” Lucius sneered. “No. I think not. After we remove Dumbledore, we’ll find someone worthy to appoint. Someone with our views.”

“We ought to get back. We’ll talk more at the Ministry,” Altair said, turning to head down the stairs. 

Draco grabbed Harry and the pair scampered back towards Atlanta’s room. The door was unlocked and the boys slipped in as Altair rounded the corner heading right for them. Draco peeked out under the bottom of the door and noticed Altair take a few steps towards Atlanta’s room before deciding to head down the stairs. Draco let out a sigh. A few minutes later, his father’s silent footsteps followed. Draco stood up and found Harry standing behind him, looking completely freaked out. 

“I thought Altair was okay,” he whispered. “Why would he want Dumbledore gone?”

Draco studied Harry for a long time before deciding to speak the truth. “Altair isn’t a good guy. He’s a Dark wizard, like my father. They are very similar. Altair hides that side of himself in public, whilst my father shows pride in his Darkness.”

“I thought Altair was against Voldemort?”

“No. He only acts like it now so vocally because it is beneficial for him at the moment. The moment it is favorable to show his true colors, he will.”

“How can that man be Atlanta’s father?” Harry asked faintly. “Oops. Sorry.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “I wonder the same thing, but then look at my father.” 

“Her mother is so cold too, though…you’re mother isn’t like that. She’s nice.”

“She’s only nice to people who mean something to her,” Draco said. “In public she’s just as cold as Circe Hilderbatch.”

Harry sighed and sat down on the floor of the dark room, picking at the rug. Draco watched his slim fingers work their way through the fibers in the dim light provided by the city of London. 

“What are we going to do if they succeed in getting Dumbledore kicked out of the school? The attacks will happen twice as much with Dumbledore gone. I know it. I swear to god he sees almost everything that goes on,” Harry quietly said. 

Draco sat down across from Harry on the floor. “You’re right. We need to find that diary. I believe Ginny Weasley has it.”

“Why are you so sure it’s Ginny? I know she seems to be a loner, but I think she’s just sad Atlanta is gone,” Harry offered. “She doesn’t seem to be acting strange otherwise.”

Draco let out a noise of frustration, ramming his hands through his gelled hair. He forgot it was glued to his head and thus didn’t do much other than almost rip his hair out of his head with his actions. After failing at messing his hair up, he flopped backwards on the floor. He watched patterns dance on the ceiling for a moment in the dim lights from the street. 

“I know Ginny Weasley has that diary. When we get back, we’re going to become Ginny’s new best friend. Or at least you are.”

“What? Why me?”

Draco snickered, popping up on his elbows. “Because. Remember what Weasley told you?”

Harry looked confused.

“She’s got a crush on you,” Draco teased.

This got Draco a pillow in the face. 


	18. Hermione Makes a Deduction

**Disclaimer: If you know it, I do not own it.**

* * *

After the blur of the holidays, Hogwarts was a welcome change. Harry quickly put Draco’s plan into action and spent an abnormal amount of his free time attempting to speak to Ginny Weasley. These attempts failed dismally for an array of reasons. Harry was unfortunately Harry Potter, thus rendered Ginny Weasley speechless. This caused Harry to become uncomfortable, which lead to him running away after making a fool of himself. After two weeks, Draco told him to give it up. 

“You can stop embarrassing yourself,” Draco muttered. “I’ll do it.”

It took Draco two days to get the redhead to say more than five words to him. By the end of January, she said a total of ten words. Even Quidditch could not make her say a sentence comprising of more than two words. 

 It the fifth of February when Draco found himself ensconced in an overstuff, blue velvet chair in the Ravenclaw Tower. Hermione had insisted Draco join her in her Common Room for the evening, as they both had a lot of homework and Gryffindors were not known to be quiet. (Grudgingly, if one thing Draco missed about Slytherin was the fact the Common Room was relatively quiet, but not too quiet.) The professors had begun to pile it on in preparation for exams, and of course, Hermione had gone into overload once the word “exam” was uttered. 

The Ravenclaw Common Room was similar to the Gryffindor Common room in that it was located in a tower and somewhat round. It different in the fact it was expensive. That was the only word Draco could think of when he stared at the cream, midnight blue and silver furnishings. While Draco had thought the Slytherin Common Room was furnished with top notch things, Ravenclaw one upped Slytherin in the fact it was actually warm and inviting, as opposed to somewhat off putting. The Slytherin Common Room was like Draco’s house: nice to look at, but you don’t want to stay. The Ravenclaw Common Room was the opposite in that you wanted to stay. 

The only downfall was the fact it was almost silent. The carpeting, the couches and overstuffed chairs all absorbed sound, causing an also eerie silence. Draco knew people were talking, socializing and making noise, but none reached his ears except the noise Hermione was making in the chair across from him in the little alcove they settled in earlier in the evening. Luckily, Hermione was a somewhat loud studier. She shuffled parchment, flipped pages loudly and made huffing noises through her nose. Draco was pretty sure she didn’t realize she did all this. Draco would never have noticed if there was any noise in the Ravenclaw Common Room. 

“Draco?”

“Yes, Hermione?”

Draco was reading the time traveling book yet again, having finished his homework. The time travel book was dense and confusing. How ATF had understood any of it was beyond Draco. He had always assumed he was at an equal level of intelligence to her, yet with his…nineteen year old…twenty year old…his whatever year mind older than twelve, he was having issues. 

He was only on chapter ten out of forty-seven. So far he’d learned two things: 

1\. Time had fixed points. These fixed points refused to change, yet could be altered. Fixed points would still happen, yet if changed, they’d happen at different times or happen differently. There was no stopping fixed points. The frustrating part was you could not tell what Time (the sentient aspect of time) deemed a fixed point. 

2\. Time was sentient. Draco pictured a beautiful, enthrall, ghostly white being that glittered each time he thought about Time. As evil as she was pretty, Time enjoyed messing with itself (oh, did that sound wrong) and, per the author of the book, liked time travelers who messed with time. If no one came along, Time got bored and bad stuff happened. 

Clearly, in his last life, Time had been utterly bored. 

In the three months Draco had been reading the book, that was what he’d gotten out of it in simple terms. Anything else he gleaned was from the reading the summaries of the chapters. All chapters began with a long winded— think twenty pages— summary of what the chapter was about. What Draco had gleaned from these (and don’t quote him on this) was: 

1\. The spells that allowed you to mess with time were flawed and incomplete. None of them worked. Chapters thirteen through nineteen dealt with each spell the book offered. The summaries all stated the spells did not work for one reason: only one who was meant to use it would understand. 

2\. The section on potions was almost nonexistent due to the dark nature, yet still had ten full chapters telling you as much. 

3\. The only way to soul time travel according to the book was through a remorseful death or dying before you were able to reach your full potential. (Chapters thirty through forty-two.)

4\. Both aspects (remorse and full potential) were decided by Time. (Chapters forty-three to forty-six discussed this.)

5\. Time was like Fate. They were like cousins.  Or something. (Chapter forty-seven, which was a grand total of a hundred pages.) 

Basically, a mad man wrote the book. A mad man who thought Time was a woman in a box. 

Yeah, a box. It actually said that. 

“Draco!”

Draco snapped to attention. Judging by the annoyed expression on Hermione’s face, she’d been speaking and he had not been listening. 

“I apologize. You were saying?”

“You are a time traveler, aren’t you?”

Draco blinked at her. Several times. How did she figure it out? He had been so careful. He was sure her suspicion of him had died down from earlier in the year, since she hadn’t brought it up. 

“Did you die?”

“What?” Draco asked.

“I read that book, too, Draco,” Hermione informed him quietly. “I copied it after it was taking you so long to read and I had to renew it for you. I could tell that the soul traveling section has been read more often than any other section by the ink stains you left. And that was the section the note fell out of when you opened the book, even though that section is buried within the actual book. I know you’ve read the summary of that section a few times, but not the chapter because you look confused each time you read it, which is why you went back to the start and are reading really slow as it is a dense book. Even I don’t understand it. However, there are only two ways to soul travel back in time: Dark Magic or death. Did you die?”

“No,” Draco admitted, amazed at her deductive skills. He blinked at her a few times, then turned to the soul traveling section. Sure enough, there was indeed more ink stains on the pages, but they stopped at the actual start of the chapters. Draco looked at his hands. 

He was covered in ink. How had he failed to notice this? 

“So, when you told Harry last summer you were a time traveler, you weren’t lying?” 

“No. I spoke the truth.”

Hermione clenched her jaw together. Worry seeped into Draco. 

“I know it’s illegal—”

“Draco!” she hissed, eyes flashing. “You could have killed yourself! Those potions are dangerous. That is why they are classified as Dark! And seeing how you don’t understand the section without reading what comes before it, you didn’t do proper due diligence before you used the potions! I know your family has Dark tendencies, but what was so horrible about where you were that you used that method to travel back?”

Draco felt his face lose any expression, indignation rising up within his stomach. His eyes bore into Hermione’s. “It was like living through a bloody nightmare, Hermione. Voldemort won. My family was in tatters and would likely be killed, along with everyone else. Voldemort…”

Draco looked away. He had not spoken of the past with anyone since arriving. He kept it all bottled up. Suddenly, it was hard to breathe. He fought through a range of emotions before he threw his Occulmency shields up and felt himself calm down. He was able to speak with detachment. 

“He came back in my fourth year. And he was evil, mercurial, insane and driven by one goal: kill Potter.”

Hermione blanched, all thoughts on how stupid and rash Draco had been flying out of her thirteen-year-old mind. 

“How old are you?”

“Honestly, I’m not sure. I’ve lost track,” Draco admitted. “Mentally, I am either twenty or nineteen. I was give or take a month short of eighteen when I…left and sent myself back to my eleventh birthday.”

Hermione stared at him, her eyes widening further. “But…but…”

“I sent my soul, magic and memories back. When I arrived back, I was melded with my eleven-year-old self and found I had new memories, mostly having to do with Atlanta. As I spent more time in this time period, as my eleven year old self, I pieced together what happened. Somehow, the Atlanta I knew from the future got sent back in time from my method, but because she failed to have the potions in her body, her whole body got thrown back in time and was spit out in 1976. For some unknown reason.”

“She wrote you that letter.” 

Draco nodded. 

“I believe she is also the person who will send back the Atlanta Black we know,” Draco added. “She left the bottom note we found in the book. She’s Adrasteia.”

Hermione looked like she was going to pass out.

“I know this is a lot to take in…I…I didn’t think I could tell anyone, as what I’d done is illegal. Wizards believe you should not mess with time.”

“True. But there’s nothing we can do to make you go back,” Hermione admitted. “You killed your body when you ripped your soul, magic and memories out and sent them to, well, you.”

“I know.”

“It must have been horrid,” Hermione whispered. She made a few jerky movements, but kept her hands in her lap in the end. 

“It was beyond words. There aren’t words to convey how horrid it was. Voldemort…he sunk too far into the Dark Arts and they consumed him, leaving him…not human. There…there was only one person who can defeat him.”

“Harry.”

“Potter died,” Draco choked out. “He let Voldemort kill him.” 

He felt a prickling behind his eyes. He quickly rubbed his fisted hands in his eyes, willing the tears away. He felt a warm hand on his shoulder. 

Potter was not Harry. Potter might have died, but Harry was not going to do what Potter did. Harry had an advantage Potter failed to have: Draco Malfoy. 

“Potter was given an ultimatum. Hand himself over and Voldemort would stop pointlessly killing all his friends or he would continue and win. If Harry turned himself over to death, the other side would live.”

Draco lowered his hands. He met Hermione’s worried brown eyes. She looked scared, young and concerned. He pushed on. 

“Voldemort was going to kill them. Everyone who stood against him, everyone that failed him. It was so easy to fail him, Hermione. He’d reduced my entire family to nothing. I was living in constant fear. I saw Potter during the hour he had to decide. I was still in the school, while the rest of the Death Eaters were outside. I’d deflected when I’d…well, when I had failed to get what Voldemort didn’t want Potter to get in the school. I knew it was important because of the fear Voldemort showed for a brief moment when he figured out what Potter was after. Of course, Potter got it.”

“Potter got this object, but was still going to give himself over?” Hermione asked. Draco was glad she was going with his naming method to keep Potter and Harry separate. “What was the thing he wanted? Could it defeat Voldemort?”

“It was a crown or something. I do not know what it was, but Voldemort had been…acting more irrational than usual. He couldn’t kill Potter. He had tried something like seven times by the time the Battle of Hogwarts started.  There was something with his own wand and Potters…I think because they share the same core donor, so he took my father’s. Potter destroyed the wand somehow that even Voldemort couldn’t explain.”

Draco shuddered, remembering the Dark Lord’s wrath after the failed mission to kill Harry with his father’s wand. He felt Hermione flex her fingers on his shoulder and relaxed a little, pushing on with his story. 

“Then, he went after the Death Stick.”

“The what?”

“Some wand that is unbeatable. There’s a legend about it,” Draco said, shrugging. “He found it, then attacked Hogwarts. He also had…objects he hidden away and I guess Potter had found these objects. I don’t know what they were, but they were very important to him. He was so angry when he realized what Potter and his friends were up to, what they had been doing all year.”

Draco felt a tremor, remembering how his arm had hurt, feeling Voldemort’s anger. He could still hear the screams from the dining room when Voldemort had arrived after the Golden Trio escaped— when he thought they had gone into the Lastrange vault. There was something else in there besides the Gryffindor sword Bellatrix had been worried about, which the Golden Trio later got. 

Draco had fled the dining room the moment Dobby had vanished with Harry. He hidden till the Dark Lord had left to do whatever and Draco could go back to school. 

“You were one of them? One of the Death Eaters?” Hermione whispered.

Draco looked up and was hurt by the expression in her eyes.

“I had no choice,” Draco pleaded, grabbing onto her hand, which had left his shoulder. He held it tightly and refused to let go. Holding her hand tethered him to reality. His Occulmency shields fell as emotion over took him. “My father failed him. Failed to get…this prophecy in my fifth year. As punishment, Voldemort branded me and told me I had to kill Dumbledore.”

Hermione gasped. She tried to pull away, but Draco grabbed onto her forearms and refused to let her go. He pulled her across the space between him and placed her in the chair with him. He turned himself so he could face her. Their faces were inches apart. 

“I didn’t do it. I couldn’t. I am not a killer. I was disgusted with myself,” Draco admitted. “I had been foolish, childish. But it was too late. Dumbledore offered me protection, but before I could do anything…the others showed up, Snape showed up…”

“Professor Snape?”

Draco shuddered again. He felt Hermione shift in front of him. He loosed his grip on her forearms and he felt her draw him closer to him, realizing the direction of his story. 

“He killed Dumbledore.”

“I don’t know where his loyalties really lie,” Draco whispered, resting his head on her shoulder. “Atlanta, er, Adrasteia told me not to underestimate Snape. He’s…I don’t know. He’s is loyal to Dumbledore. He’s the most trusted member of the Inner Circle of Voldemort. Both sides trust him to no end.”

“But, he showed his true colors,” Hermione insisted in his ear. 

“No. I don’t think he did,” Draco admitted. He pushed away so he could look into her eyes. “I have thought of this often. After Dumbledore’s death a book came out about his life. It was written by a less than…reputable person— she was known to sprinkle truth into her stories, but… it brought to light a lot of truths. Dumbledore is a great manipulator. And his hand was dead.”

“What?”

“Sixth year. When we began school, his hand was shriveled and black. It was cursed by a very dark, deadly curse. I don’t know which one, or how he got it, but…”

“He could have been dying and…planned his death with Professor Snape? Because he knew what Voldemort asked you to do.”

Hermione did not look like she believed this. 

“It sounds so stupid,” Draco muttered. “But…it doesn’t matter. None of that has happened. It’s not going to happen.”

Draco could see a million thoughts fly through Hermione’s head. He allowed her to think, as he had dumped a lot on her. She reached up, cupped his face in both her tiny hands and stared into his eyes. 

“Your eyes are old,” she said. “Older than you appear.”

Draco said nothing, but held eye contact with her. 

“I believe you. What are we going to do? What happened in your second year?”

Draco poured out all he knew about his second year. Hermione listened patiently. When he finished, she bit her bottom lip and turned to face forward in the chair. Draco did the same, shifting so they both fit comfortably in the oversized chair. During their conversation, the area they had placed themselves in the Ravenclaw Common Room had emptied. Ravenclaws were good about knowing when someone needed privacy and retreated quietly. They weren’t apt to interrupt or later inquire what was going on. While they were driven by gaining more knowledge, it wasn’t from their fellow Housemate’s private lives. 

It was a good thing they had this conversation in Ravenclaw and not Gryffindor.  

“And, based on the theory in that book, the opening of the Chamber seems to be a fixed event. That means, something that occurred at the end of the event is important for the continuation of time. Whatever happened has to happen again,” Hermione theorized.

“I don’t know what happened. Potter…did something. I was never sure what, other than he destroyed the diary somehow. I was never told how Potter had done it. I only know it was something with the diary because of the wrath of Voldemort when he found out after his return.”

“You weren’t friends with Potter last time. Or me.”

“No. I am very ashamed how I treated you last time,” Draco whispered, shame filling him. “You, Potter and Weasley were in Gryffindor together and were inseparable. You were nicknamed the Golden Trio.”

“Weasley?” 

The look on Hermione’s face was classic.

“He was…different last time. He’s…using his brain these days. And he’s not as lazy. Zabini is a good influence on him. Hell, being in the Snake Pit his family so hates is good for him,” Draco said.

“You were in Slytherin last time.”

“Yes. With the two brainless gnomes as my ‘friends,’” Draco said, spitting out the last word.  

Hermione was silent for a minute. 

“The snake is loyal to Harry this time around,” Hermione stated, deciding to deal with the current issues rather than Draco’s past. “Harry is rather nice. Too nice.”

Draco nodded. “It’s good, though. That Harry is how he is. It’s his strength.”

“It’s also his weakness. It’s why Potter wound up dead.”

“Potter isn’t Harry,” Draco informed Hermione. “I know the difference between the two. I know they are the same person, but Harry is different. Potter was…an average wizard. He did not work hard, he just went with the current. I believe this was the Weasel’s influence. He was very lazy and forever distracting Potter and Potter didn’t care about school. Granger was always pestering the pair to work and study, but she pretty much carried them through exams. They waited till the last minute to do things.”

Hermione looked appalled.

“Harry isn’t like that. Yeah, he likes to goof off, but Harry is curious. And…between the two of us, we’ve gotten him to be more…studious. He does study without you pestering him. He takes classes seriously and does work hard. I think the fact I befriended him on his first day in the wizarding world helped. We wrote the rest of the summer when and he arrived on the train, he knew a lot more than he did before. Potter was so clueless about the wizarding world. The Weasleys, who Potter was really close to, never told him anything it seemed. He made the stupidest mistakes.”

“I always get the feeling Harry is holding back,” Hermione admitted. “That he’s scared to show his intelligence.”

“Yes, I feel that way too. I felt Potter was that way later on after I’d see him in action a few times. I don’t think Potter realized he was intelligent.”

Together they frowned.

“But Harry and Potter are the same, in a way,” Hermione pointed out. “They are the same person, only influenced differently because of you.” 

“True. They are still both very Gryffindor to the core. And have issues with saving people,” Draco said. “But, between the two of us, I think there is more thinking and planning going on. Not that our last battle with evil went as planned.”

“True.”

They fell silent for a few minutes. 

“So. We need to make sure Harry is…a better wizard than Potter.”

“Yes. Potter was weak in almost all areas except Defense. He was bloody good at anything having to do with…well, the Dark Arts. But he was very Light. But, he could do Dark spells like no one I’ve seen.”

Draco shivered, remembering the encounter in the bathroom sixth year where he almost bled to death. 

Hermione hummed. “Not all Dark spells are evil. While their intent is almost always harm, they can be used in defense and for good.”

Draco blinked at her. “Are you serious? You didn’t take my word when we talked about this at the start of the year.”

Hermione startled a bit and frowned. “I know. Lockhart is…less than stellar. I will admit. He’s…”

“Pretty?” Draco teased. 

Hermione gently punched him in the shoulder. “I’ve been studying on my own. I cannot believe Dumbledore hired such an…incompetent teacher.”

“The position is cursed,” Draco said. “We will have a different professor each year. Only next year and fourth year will the professor be competent. If things roll out as they did last time, fourth year we’ll have a Death Eater disguised as an ex-Auror as a professor.”

Hermione gasped. 

“Draco Malfoy, you are going to give me a heart attack if you keep dropping bombs like that. Death Eater as a professor?”

“He was good,” Draco insisted. 

Hermione stared at him out of the side of her eye and shook her head.  

“How about this…tomorrow, in the light of day and after we’ve both slept, let’s get everything down that happened last time. Because we need to stick to the original timeline as much as possible, we will deal with each…disaster in the correct year.”

Draco nodded, agreeing that was indeed a good idea. He was secretly glad Hermione had read the book and seemingly understood it better than he did. He added, “I think it best you not tell anyone what I’ve told you.”

“I agree. Since you already tried to tell Harry, it might be best to, well, not try till he has more curiosity about it. I believe he thinks there is something you’re not telling him and there is something…off about you, but he hasn’t solved that mystery.”

“So you don’t feel bad for keeping him in the dark? I do. Especially now that I’ve told you.”

Hermione looked thoughtful for a moment. “Harry is your best friend. I think your first actual friend. Atlanta is like your annoying little sister, admit it.”

Draco rolled his eyes. 

“I believe, though Harry might be mad, he will understand in the end why you kept quiet. Also, if he figures it out on his own without you telling him, he might believe it. Also, what is the first line of that book?”

Draco glanced at the book, laying forgotten at his feet. 

“‘Do not tell people where you have originated if you are indeed a traveler through time. For one, they will think you to be a lunatic,’” Draco recited from memory. “You don’t find me loony, do you?”

“No. You’re eyes are not dreamy or far off,” Hermione said. “And it honestly explains why you don’t act your age half the time. And you seem to know things and do all that advance magic you do when you’re not thinking. Oh, and you were a little too sure of Quirrell last year.”

Draco smirked. They sat in silence for a little while longer before agreeing to speak further in the morning. They parted ways and headed off to bed. 


	19. Unexpected Dust

**Disclaimer: If you know it, I do not own it.**

_A/N: If you’d like to know where Atlanta went, see the series_[Shattered](../../../series/50643) _. If you want to know who sent her back, see stories[“Whispers from the Past” ](../../887104)and “[Writing the Future” ](../../887658)in the _ Over the Rainbow _series_.  _  
_

* * *

The next morning, Hermione showed up at the portrait hole bright and early. She had bombarded Draco with messages on the enchanted parchment till Draco finally dragged himself out of bed. It was clear Hermione failed to understand the concept of sleeping in on Saturdays. After breakfast, Draco and Hermione headed to the library. She led him to a secluded area of the library that appeared to be covered in ten inches of dust.

“Does anyone ever come back here?” Draco asked. With a wave of his wand, he cleaned the dust away from the table and chairs.

“I doubt it. I scouted it out before I woke you up,” Hermione explained. “Since the dust was so thick on the table and books, I had a feeling no one would bother us or overhear us.”

“How long have you been up?”

“Since five,” Hermione said blithely. 

Draco gaped at her for a moment. 

“Sit,” Hermione ordered. She pulled out a sheet of parchment and shoved it at Draco. “Do you know a charm to put on that so only you and I can read it?”

“I might. Why? What are you going to write on it?”

“I’m going to write down everything you remember and our plan of attack,” Hermione announced, pulling out her ink pot and a quill. “I wish I had a locked diary or something, but we’ll have to charm it or something.”

“I think I might know where to find a charm like that,” Draco said. “I’ve never done it.”

Hermione sent Draco to get the book. He spent the first few hours they were in the library practicing the charm, which was NEWT level. By the time he’d charmed the parchment and set a password ( _I have a cunning plan_ to reveal and _Exterminate_ to hide), it was almost lunch time and Draco was ready to go back to bed. Hermione, though, was just getting started. 

“Okay, so, this year…that diary. Who had the diary in your past?”

“I believe Ginny Weasley,” Draco said and then explained his reasoning.  

Hermione nodded, jotting down everything he was saying.

“All right, so by this point last time, the same people were Petrified. And no one knew anything at all?”

Draco nodded. 

“Harry and I weren’t doing anything?” Hermione asked. “I doubt Harry was sitting around doing nothing while people were getting Petrified.”

“No. I doubt he was. But I wasn’t friends with you guys,” Draco quietly reminded her. “So, I don’t know what happened over Christmas. Well, other than you were in the Hospital Wing. I don’t know when you entered, but sometime over break. You weren’t Petrified. Yet.”

“I got Petrified?”

Draco nodded. “You were one of the last. You ruined Quidditch.”

Hermione glared at him, but wrote it down, along with anyone else Draco remembered getting Petrified. 

“Your current theory is Ginny Weasley has the diary, even though you, Harry and Atlanta got it off her before school began?” Draco nodded. “Why?”

“You’ve read the book,” Draco said. “It says things are fixed. That might be a fixed point, so somehow the diary found its way to Ginny. I’ve never seen her with the diary…but, the girl I remember— very vaguely because Malfoys hate Weasleys and I went out of my way not to pay attention to any of them, other than Weasel because he was Potter’s friend— but, Weaselette was popular. She had a lot of friends and was happy. Except when she was angry like an insulted Hippogriff— trust me I know what an insulted Hippogriff is like— but Ginny was never this shy, quiet almost scared girl. And I don’t think she was obsessed with her studies like she is this time around. That was your area.” 

Hermione gave him a look, but ignored his last comment. “Well, people are getting attacked…maybe it’s freaked her out?”

“I think its more than that. My years here were always filled with…strife.”

Hermione didn’t look too thrilled about this fact. “But, she might be…she has a huge crush on Harry. Maybe that’s hindering her social skills?”

Draco sat back in the wooden chair and drew designs on the surface of the table with the tip of his index finger. 

“She had a crush on Potter. And she still does, but I think it is more a hero worship thing,” Draco rationed. “She won’t talk to him, but she won’t talk to me either. I get farther than Harry does, but she is so shy and quiet. I got her to say ten words to me in the past month. And, I know she can talk to me, as before the Quidditch match she was able to carry on a conversation with Neville and I and it included more than ten words spoken at once. She constructed complex sentences.”

Hermione pressed her lips together. 

“I know there has been a change in her behavior since the Quidditch match. She was shy and reluctant to speak to me before, but she kind of opened up when Nev was around. But now, she won’t even talk to Neville! I’ve seen him try a few times in the past week and she acts like she does with me. Lots of nodding and shaking of the head.”

Hermione tapped her lips with her quill. “All right. So we know THIS Ginny Weasley is acting different since the last Quidditch game and the other Ginny had the diary. But…how was the chamber opened last time?”

“I have no idea. I don’t know how the diary did it. There are only two people who can open that chamber: Harry and Voldemort. The diary belongs to Voldemort.”

“Might it be doing it in his spirit form?”

“Why didn’t he open it last year?”

Hermione bit her bottom lip and tapped her nose with her quill while she thought. She came up with several reasons why, which Draco shot down quickly. They went back and forth for almost a half hour before Hermione finally conceded and agreed Ginny had the diary this time around just like last time. 

“Why can Harry talk to snakes? If he’s not the Heir of Slytherin?” Hermione asked. “This is bothering me a lot, as logically, Harry ought to not be able to speak to snakes.” 

Draco looked at her in confusion. “I know….” 

“It was never figured out before?” 

“Oh. No. I have no idea why Potter could speak to snakes. It annoyed Voldemort to no end. He doesn’t like to share.”

Hermione perked up. “Oh! Oh!”

She looked frantic and was too excited to actually let Draco know what she wanted to do or what she’d thought of. 

“What?”

“You know about Voldemort! You know him!”

Draco frowned. “I don’t know him. No one knows him.”

“But you know things about him. Like he doesn’t like to share. He speaks Parseltounge. He’s the Heir of Slytherin. He’s…”

“Evil, insane, a control freak, and so seeped in the Dark Arts he doesn’t look human. I’m not sure how that is vital, new information.”

“The fact he doesn’t like to share is vital,” Hermione said, writing it down. “And new!” 

“Pardon?”

Hermione studied him for a moment after she finished writing. “Usually people who don’t want to be like anyone else get upset if someone else shared skills they held in high esteem. Voldemort holds speaking Parseltounge highly, correct?” 

“Correct.”

“And he doesn’t like the fact that Harry and Potter can speak it.”

“Well, it could be because Potter and Harry are his nemeses.”

“I think it is more than that,” Hermione replied. “Tell me about how the Death Eaters are organized. From what I’ve read, the reason it was so hard to track them down after the fall of the last war was because none of you really know one another. Correct?”

“In a sense,” Draco admitted. “Death Eaters all have Dark Marks on their left forearms. Anyone who was an actual Death Eater would bare the mark. Voldemort only marked loyal followers, not those he used under Imperious curse.”

“Like your father,” Hermione said, writing and not looking at Draco.

“He’s a Death Eater. He lied.”

Hermione jerked. “What?”

“He paid people off to get out of jail,” Draco flatly stated. “He pretty much cleared my mother out of her inheritance to do it.”

Hermione stared at him aghast. 

Not wanting to dwell on the matter, Draco began to spill everything he knew about Death Eaters. He drew her a picture of the Dark Mark, gave her the spell the Death Eaters cast after they raided a house or killed someone. He told her the inner organizational methods Voldemort used. He gave her the names of the Inner Circle. When he got to Severus Snape he paused. 

“Professor Snape?” Hermione asked, reading his mind. 

Draco nodded slowly, running his fingers through his hair. “He’s also a spy for the Order, though. He’s trusted by both Voldemort and Dumbledore. Addy told me to…not count him out and…something else. He’s a wild card, basically. She knew something about Snape, but didn’t write it down. I mean, he did something that caused Dumbledore to trust him knowing full well he’s a Death Eater. That’s how he got out of going to Azkaban: Dumbledore.”

Hermione frowned. “You’re just not torn because the man is your godfather, are you?”

“No,” Draco said, sitting up straight. “I don’t think he’s evil. When I was a Death Eater—”

Hermione made a strange noise, which Draco tried to ignore.

“When I was a Death Eater, Snape was always given spy type jobs. He was never sent off to do raids or the dirty work. He made potions for Voldemort and stuff like that. He was always told all the plans, all the missions and trusted above everyone else. The scariest thing…was the fact he played his role so well…”  

“Why would, er, Addy, tell you to watch him and not count him out?”

“That I do not know. But, I do know that till Dumbledore dies, which will not happen this time around if I can help it, no one will be able to speak against Snape.”

Hermione nodded. 

“All right, well…I think that’s good for today. You and Harry are still going to attempt talking to Ginny more often?”

Draco nodded. “Yes.”

“Get Neville to help you. I’m sure if you tell him you’re simply worried about how anti-social she is, he’ll try to help out. Do you think I could read that letter in full that Addy wrote you?”

“I have it with me,” Draco said, pulling the letter out of his bag. He was about to hand it to her when a gust of wind swept around them, sending dust all over the place. Hermione and Draco began sneezing and coughing. 

“What is going on?” Hermione asked, her hair blowing all over the place as the wind picked up.

“No clue!” Draco shouted.

He felt like he was trapped in a wind storm. He put his arms over his face as a bright, white light suddenly began to shine. Draco darted under the table, where he found Hermione had also taken refuge. Peering between half slitted eyes, he saw books and papers blowing all over the place until the light slowly died down. Once the light faded, the wind fell still. Draco felt someone was standing near by and crawled out from under the table to see who it was.

“What are you doing under the table?” a posh sounding British accent asked. 

Draco slowly looked up to find himself staring at Atlanta Black. 

Or at least he thought it was Atlanta Black. She looked…wrong.

He scrambled to his feet, reaching out and putting his hands on her shoulders and then arms, feeling to make sure he wasn’t seeing things. 

“You’re really here,” he breathed. 

“Of course. Where is Professor Dumbledore?” she inquired, looking at him as if she did not know him. 

“Where did you come from?”

Hermione poked her head out from under the table and looked shocked to find Atlanta standing there. 

“What did you do to your face?” Hermione asked, slowly getting to her feet.

Atlanta looked insulted. “Nothing. This is my face.”

Draco took a closer look at Atlanta’s face, which in fact was different. Her lips were too red, her cheek bones slanted differently, her eyes were strange, as they were flicked with red and blue. Her hair also had a more controlled curl than the out of control wavy mess Draco knew it to be. She was standing strange for Atlanta as well, too stiff and formal. And then there was the fact she was speaking in an accent that made her sound like the Royal family. 

“What happened to you?” Draco asked, moving closer to her.

“Riddle happened,” she snapped. She took a step back out of Draco’s reach, looking at him as if she did not really know him. “I must speak to Professor Dumbledore. I presumed I would appear where he was located.”

“And you did, Miss Rid— Black.”

Draco turned around and saw Dumbledore standing on the other side of the table. He looked mildly amused by the mess the area was in. There were parchments, quills and books all over the place. But, it was no longer dusty. 

“Hmmm, Madam Pince isn’t going to like this,” Dumbledore commented, smiling serenely. “Ah, Mr. Malfoy and Miss Granger!”

“Professor,” they replied in unison. 

“I know you will have many questions for Miss Black, but I must ask you refrain from asking them at the moment. She had been through an ordeal and it is not over yet.”

“So, you have made progress?” Atlanta asked in a small voice. She hugged a leather bag to herself. It had an old fashion look to it and appeared beat up and used. Draco was shocked to see a Slytherin scarf poking out of it. He looked at her again, closely, and noted she was wearing what appeared to be an older Hogwarts uniform. The patch on her sweater was a Slytherin patch. 

“Yes, Miss Black.”

Draco noticed she flinched when addressed at _Miss Black_.

“Mind healing has come far since I last saw you,” Dumbledore said, using his arm to indicate Atlanta ought to follow. “I’ve also done quite a bit of research into what Mr. Riddle did and am sure I’ve come up with the correct course of action.”

“I need to see Remus Lupin,” Atlanta suddenly blurted out.

“Mr. Lupin?” Dumbledore asked, look somewhat surprised.

“Yes. I have to ask him about Tom,” Atlanta went on. She was wearing a blank mask, the one perfected by most purebloods. “He has Tom.” 

This Atlanta had never worn _that_ mask before in his life, even with her proper upbringing. There was a very off kilter air about the girl standing next to Draco. 

Dumbledore frowned. “I thought we explained what happened to your brother.”

Draco knitted his eyebrows together. Atlanta’s brother was named Sirius, only he’d kill you if you called him that. He went by Dre for some reason. Well, for all Draco knew, he decided to go by Tom now. The man was a little strange. 

“Lupin will know what I mean,” Atlanta insisted, getting a stubborn set to her jaw. She gripped the strap on her school bag with both hands.

She was really pale too. And her fingers, if possible, looked slimmer and longer— almost skeleton like. 

It made Draco shiver as they reminded him of Voldemort’s fingers twirling his wand through his fingers right before he did something horrible. 

“Well, I will contact Mr. Lupin,” Dumbledore offered. “I was going to any how. He is rather worried and will in fact be taking part in your recovery.”

“Of course,” Atlanta said as if was to be expected her tutor was worried out of his mind and suddenly able to help in mind healing. “Will I be going to St. Mungo’s?”

“Yes, I’m afraid you will,” Dumbledore said, actually looking sorry. “Now, I think it is best we leave Mr. Malfoy and Miss Granger to what they were doing. I’m sure it was of great importance.”

He gave them a knowing smile. The look in his light blue eyes told Draco he knew what they had been doing before Atlanta materialized. Draco gulped. 

Atlanta eyed Draco for a moment before moving around him carefully. Draco followed her progress, his mouth slightly open. She edged around Hermione as well till she reached Dumbledore’s side. Dumbledore did not seem bothered in the least by her behavior. He put a hand on her shoulder and led her away. 

“What the heck?” Hermione asked the moment they were gone. “Where did she come from?”

“1943?” Draco said. 

“I wonder what Riddle did to her,” Hermione commented, quietly. “She said she looked that way because Riddle happened to her.”

Draco sat down in a chair and stared into space. He was vaguely aware of Hermione sitting down as well after gathering their things together. 

“T.M. Riddle was at school in 1943, was he not?”

“Yes. We already concluded that.”

“All right. And you believed T.M. Riddle is the same person as Voldemort,” Hermione offered. 

Draco snapped to attention, his eyes going wide. “No wonder she’s strange. If I had…Voldemort…wait, she said Tom was her brother. Does the ’T’ stand for Tom?”

Hermione shrugged. “That would make sense.”

Draco nodded. “She didn’t seem like Atlanta at all.”

“No. She did not.”

“She seemed like…well, a rich pureblood.”

“Noticed that, did you?” Hermione muttered. “I really wonder what he did to her to change her physically and mentally.”

“Who knows?”

“All right, I’m going to try to figure out more about T.M. Riddle. I still refuse to believe he is the same person as Voldemort. Why would the school give him a Special Service award if he was evil?”

Draco shrugged. He honestly had no idea. Teenage Snake Face wasn’t something he often pondered. Hermione packed up her things, told Draco to go eat something and vanished. Draco remained where he was till he figured he’d wait to hear from his mother, who was sure to get the whole story of what had happened to Atlanta during her time traveling trip.

 

 


	20. The Shattered One

**Disclaimer: If you know it, I do not own it.**

* * *

The girl looked tiny. She was paler than Narcissa remembered, her lips redder and her cheek bones slanted differently. Her skin was completely unblemished, the dusting of freckles gone from her nose and the other beauty marks gone. Her wild black hair was replaced by controlled, cascading loose curls that even after lying in a hospital bed remained perfect. 

Atlanta Black looked like a different person. 

“What happened?” Narcissa whispered, staring at the child who continued to breathe steadily while silver instruments whizzed all around her. 

“She had her mind tampered with by a very powerful wizard,” Altair replied, a serious expression on his face. He sat stiffly in the chair next to Narcissa, staring at his daughter. “She is mentally unstable. They are still trying to stabilize her mind between the two personalities she now has. I guess when she appeared in the 1970s at some point, Dumbledore explored her mind and discovered the duel personalities. She has two full people in her head. One of the mind healers figured out the reason for the bleeding between the two that caused the instability. The Cruciatus curse.”

Narcissa gasped. “Who did that to her? She is a child!”

Altair glanced at Narcissa, but said nothing. 

“I want to know what happened, Altair. I know she is your daughter, but she is one of my son’s good friends and I know he and Harry will wonder what happened to her,” Narcissa said, trying to inject an order to her tone. “What am I to tell them?” 

“Have you ever heard of Tom Riddle, Narcissa?”

“No. Is he who did this to her?”

Altair nodded. “Yes. I know who Tom Riddle becomes at the end of the day. My daughter had the honor of knowing him when he was just beginning.”

There was pride in his tone. Narcissa was confused, alarmed and a little weary. She knew the tone of voice Altair was using. It was similar to the tone her sister used when she spoke of the Dark Lord. There was a gentle caress in the pride. 

“Were you aware that during the Dark Lord’s first bid for power, before he vanished, he was looking for a Calliope Riddle?”

Narcissa said nothing. She remembered hearing that name, whispered in the background. Regulus, during one of his mental breakdowns, had mentioned the Dark Lord had a half sister who had vanished when he was sixteen. At the time, Narcissa thought Regulus was loosing it, especially as it had happened a few days before he vanished. The breakdowns had become more frequent closer to his disappearance. Narcissa would find Regulus in his room, flipping his tarot cards and muttering things that made no sense. She would try to get him to tell her what was really wrong, but as soon as he registered who she was, he would revert to his normal self and act as if nothing had occurred. The breakdowns worried his mother, who confided to Narcissa that usually it was only his father who was able to talk him down from whatever madness that had taken hold.  

Narcissa did not think Reggie was mad. He was heartbroken, scared and lonely. Looking back, it was clear to her that Regulus was worried about…Atlanta Black. 

Regulus was concerned about his Atlanta Black in connection to the Dark Lord.  

Narcissa stared at Atlanta’s body, taking in the change of her face once more. 

“Are you telling me you believe your daughter to be this Calliope Riddle he had been looking for?” 

It made sense and explained why Regulus would be worried for his Atlanta. If the Dark Lord was this Tom Riddle person and knew Atlanta Black and had claimed her to be his half sister, upon hearing the name when Atlanta Black began at Hogwarts…of course he would want her back. 

Altair startled. “I never said Calliope Riddle was the half sister.”

Narcissa gave Altair her best haunting look and turned away. 

“You are a bright one, Narcissa Malfoy. I give you props. But, I believe, this is my ticket,” Altair announce, grabbing Atlanta’s left arm, pulling the sheet back. 

Narcissa gasped when she saw the cursed scar on Atlanta’s other wise unblemished skin. It looked like a snake and Narcissa suddenly understood why Atlanta looked so different. She had this Tom Riddle’s blood flowing through her veins. He had done a blood ritual on her to tie her to him. 

That was very Dark magic. There were way to adopt individuals through blood without reverting to cutting and cursing wounds. In putting a mark on her, Tom Riddle had made her his. He’d always be able to find her, always be able to feel her. 

When the Dark Lord rose again, Atlanta Black would not be safe. 

“When the Dark Lord rises again, I will use her to gain his favor,” Altair whispered, stroking the scar on his daughter’s arm. “My father is dead, I am gaining favor in the Ministry here and soon will be able to claim the House of Black’s seat of power within the wizarding world. With the favor of the Dark Lord, I will bring the Black family back to full power.”

It was as if Narcissa was seeing Altair for the first time. He looked foreign, alien to her. His eyes were bright and he looked feverish as he stroked the ugly scar. Narcissa couldn’t breathe. How could she have been so wrong about Altair Black? How could she have missed the fact he would bow down to the insane psychopath who had tortured his own flesh and blood for no apparent reason other than he was crazy? 

“ _Oblivate_.”

Narcissa jerked, startled by the spell that came from nowhere. Altair fell back into his chair, the blank look in his eyes that all people had after they’d been hit with that particular spell. Narcissa came back to her senses and turned to find Circe Hilderbatch. She radiated anger and power as she glared at her husband. 

“Altair,” Circe said, her tone sounding normal. “Why don’t you go find a Healer? I would like to know when they plan to wake our daughter up. Remus has arrived.”

Altair shook his head, looking confused. “Oh, yes. Why is she here again?”

“Someone messed with her mind during her travel to the past,” Circe said smoothly. “We don’t know whom. She forgot who she was.”

“Why can’t I remember that,” Altair muttered.

“You have a lot on your mind,” Circe offered.

Altair gave a weak chuckle and agreed. He stood fluidly and moved out of the room. Circe stared at Narcissa for a moment.

“He is like your own husband, who I know you are wary of. If you want to keep the House of Black alive and have it prosper again here, I suggest you look into getting your cousin out of jail. He’s innocent.”

Circe glanced at Atlanta, a look of pity in her eye, and walked out. Narcissa sat back heavily, trying to wrap her mind about what had happened. A knock on the door jarred her. She turned and found Remus Lupin standing in the doorway, looking confused and uneasy. 

“Mr. Lupin,” Narcissa greeted coldly. 

“Lady Malfoy,” Lupin said. “Have you seen Ms. Hilderbatch?”

“You just missed her. Why are you here, Mr. Lupin?”

“Professor Dumbledore told me before he sent her to St. Mungo’s she requested she see me,” Lupin replied slowly. 

Narcissa slowly stood up, looking at Lupin carefully. He shifted uneasily under her gaze, but did not see willing to leave.

“I have a question, Mr. Lupin, if you would entertain me.”

He looked taken aback by her request, but she could see in his eyes he’d answer her question. 

“All right.”

“My cousin, Sirius Black…do you believe he is guilty of the crimes he committed and imprisoned for?”

The color drained from Lupin’s face and he studied her with a guarded look in his eyes. Narcissa was aware of the relationship the man had had with her cousin, but knew they broke up long before Sirius got himself into trouble. 

“I believe you know him better than most people,” Narcissa offered. 

Lupin took a deep breath. “I find it hard to believe Sirius would kill thirteen people and a friend.”

“Then, what do you think happened?”

“That, I am not sure,” Lupin replied carefully. “I’m not sure I _do_ know Sirius Black, if I am honest. The Sirius I knew…he wouldn’t have done that. But, the Sirius I knew would also never have believed me to be a Death Eater.” 

Narcissa hid her shock easily, but she was very surprised to hear Sirius believed _Lupin_ to be a Death Eater. Lupin’s face was dark, yet there was something in his eyes that told her he knew something wasn’t right. His jaw was locked, as if he was keeping himself from saying something else. 

“Is that why the two of you parted ways?”

Lupin shifted backwards a bit, but remained standing firm. 

“Yes.”

“I see. I have always been bothered by his imprisonment. While Sirius has a terrible temper and is prone to making rash decisions, there has always been something terribly off about the entire situation. Thank you for sharing your opinion, Mr. Lupin. I know it is unpleasant to bring up such terrible past memories.”

Lupin nodded. “Are you going to look further into the matter?”

He looked curious, almost hopeful in a sense. Yes, he knew something he was not sharing with her. Something he had been told but dare not believe. 

“I believe I am,” she replied. “I’ll take my leave. I am sure if you remain, Altair and Circe will return shortly. I believe they wish to wake Atlanta up. It was a pleasure seeing you, Mr. Lupin.”

“And you, Lady Malfoy.” 

Gathering her bag, she quickly removed herself from the hospital room. She took the Floo home, as she had too much on her mind to Apparate. Once she was home, she went to her study and pulled out a notebook she had been keeping since she had begun her bid to bring back the Ancient and Nobel House of Black. Altair was now a lost cause. Narcissa would take Circe Hilderbatch’s advice to heart. 

While she was weary of allowing Sirius to take his place as head of the family, he was her last choice. He would NEVER bow to the Dark Lord. She jotted down the reason for Lupin and Sirius parting ways was because Sirius thinking Lupin was a Death Eater. 

Someone had planted that idea in Sirius’ head and she was pretty sure whoever it happened to be was close to Sirius and was the spy within the Order. Knowing this information allowed Narcissa to narrow down who had been the leak that caused the death of the Potters. 

Narcissa began writing down names of people she knew to be on the Light side. She wrote down names of people she knew her cousin associated with, alive and dead. She narrowed down the list to people Sirius would take seriously. 

Lily and James Potter.

Alice and Frank Longbottom.

Remus Lupin.

Peter Pettigrew.

Atlanta D. Black. 

Albus Dumbledore.

Minerva McGonagall.

On that list, only Peter Pettigrew and Atlanta D. Black could be the possible spy. However, Atlanta D. Black died in 1979, before the Potter’s son was born. 

This left Peter Pettigrew.

He had been the spy.

A feeling rushed through Narcissa as she stared at the name written on the page. How could she not have realized this before? It explained Sirius’ rash actions the day after the Potters murders. It explained why Sirius had left Harry Potter in the care of Dumbledore (or who ever) and went off leaving Harry alone and unprotected by himself. Sirius, if he wasn’t angry, would never half left that child in anyone’s care but his own. 

Sirius had gone to find Pettigrew, knowing Pettigrew had betrayed the Potters.

Why else would Sirius and Peter meet in such a violent manner? Pettigrew was an idiot, hardly a wizard. Pettigrew would NEVER corner Sirius if he thought Sirius was honestly a danger to himself. It was out of character.

Sirius _would_ corner someone who had betrayed him and his friends. And Sirius _would_ wish to kill this person. Or at least maim him within an inch of his life. 

Sirius also would listen to his friend if his friend thought Remus Lupin was a Death Eater and was leaking information on the Order to the other side. If this friend had good evidence to back it up, and since Pettigrew was the spy, he would know what to say to make Lupin look guilty. 

The idea that Lupin was a Death Eater was planted by Pettigrew. 

The thirteen Muggles who died weighed on her mind. Sirius would not have caused a major explosion. He would have simply gone after Pettigrew. Sirius was a trained Auror. He knew how to take down someone in a crowd without harming others. 

Pettigrew had been overheard shouting about Sirius betraying James and Lily, which was the strongest evidence against Sirius. Why would— 

It was a set up. 

Narcissa allowed her eyes to go out of focus as she thought. 

Pettigrew set up his own death. If anything, he _counted_ on Sirius finding him. Pettigrew knew once Sirius had figured out what happened, Sirius would track him down. So, he made sure he was on a crowded Muggle street in the middle of the day. Pettigrew was the one who set off the explosion for his own escape. Sirius must have realized what had happened and that was why he was laughing like an insane person when the Ministry found him. That was why he did not fight back and went quietly (well, other than he was still laughing like a maniac). If anything, having failed to get Pettigrew, Sirius would have felt responsible for the deaths of his friends. He would blame himself for not seeing Pettigrew for who he really was. 

For not realizing it was Pettigrew, not Lupin who was the Death Eater. 

Sirius went to Azkaban quietly because he felt guilty for being an idiot. 

Narcissa brought her eyes back into focus and frowned at the page in front of her. 

The question was, though, why did the Potter’s choose Pettigrew as the Secret Keeper? It was common knowledge, even Dumbledore said, the Secret Keeper had been Sirius. 

OH! How cunning. They chose the weak wizard, the less obvious choice. 

How…unlike them. They must have been sure everyone would assume Sirius was their choice. But, they picked Peter Pettigrew, not knowing he would be their downfall. 

Narcissa let out a breath, running her fingers through her loose hair. She still needed proof of all her theories on Pettigrew. Proof would be very hard to come by, as there wasn’t any. Unless she could track down Pettigrew.

She knew he was not dead. He’d left the finger behind so the others would think Sirius had exploded him, but that was not what occurred. The Muggles killed had left full bodies behind, so the explosion had not been enough to blow up a body leaving only a finger behind. 

Sometimes the fact wizards failed to use basic logic at times annoyed Narcissa. 

Frowning, Narcissa felt like she was back at square one. 


	21. A Detonation in Red

**Disclaimer: If you know it, it’s from Chamber of Secrets and I do not own that.**

* * *

**Tom! Atlanta came back! Dumbledore announced she’s returned safely.**

_That is wonderful, Ginny._

**I know. I wish she were well, though. I guess she has some brain damage or something.**  

_Brain damage?_

**A memory spell gone bad, or something. Draco told me she was talking strange.**

_How?_

**Well, she spoke with a British accent and was rather cold towards him and the bushy haired girl.**  

_Ah. You did not speak with her?_

**No. Only Draco and Dumbledore.**

_Why?_

**I guess she showed up in the library where Draco was. I’m not sure. I did’t ask him.**

_Ask him._

**Okay. Tom, are you sure I shouldn’t see Madam Pomfrey? I’m still having trouble remembering where I am for large chunks of the day. And Percy keeps telling me I’m pale. And Draco keeps staring at me.**

_Maybe Draco likes you._

_Ginny?_

* * *

Draco was not sure why, but for some reason he felt the need to follow Ginny after Atlanta had returned. Once her friend had returned safely, Draco was sure Ginny would revert to normal. 

She did not.

So, Draco took up stalking. 

He was stalking Ginny Weasley. 

He cringed.

Draco did not want to be stalking Ginny Weasley but, she was acting more than a little bizarre the morning after Atlanta had returned. She stopped coming down to breakfast. Instead she remained in the Common Room, sitting very straight in her chair, her nose a little in the air while holding a book in front of her. She looked like a stuck up prat. 

If Ginny Weasley was a stuck up prat, then Draco was a Crumple-Horned Snorkack.  

So, Draco was stalking her. He had skipped out of breakfast the moment he saw her enter the Entrance Hall, by passing the Great Hall.  

Ginny stopped by a blank piece of wall, just a few stones throws away from the second floor bathroom where the Chamber was located. She stood still and straight as a board, till she began swaying a little. Almost as if a breeze had caught her and was about to knock her over. Draco moved forward a bit to catch her in case she fell, but she didn’t. She put her hand on the wall, steadied herself and fell through.

Draco was too shocked to move for a moment. He shook his head and hurried to the stretch of wall, hands moving over it in order to see if he could feel any magic as he had down in the Chamber. 

“What is going on?” Draco whispered after completing his search. His hands had met resistance of stone. “How did she….”

Draco stopped talking to himself and stared at the hallway he was located in and exactly where. This was where Oliver Wood had come flying out of nowhere all those months ago. Draco took a few steps backwards. He was still staring at the wall when a blur of black and red came flying out of the wall straight at him, knocking him clear off his feet and across the corridor.

“Oomph.”

“Oh! Draco! Er, Malfoy! Sorry,” a high pitched voice whispered. 

The object scrambled off and took off. Draco shook his head, getting to his knees in time to see red hair fly around the corner. He stared at the blank wall. He attempted to get through, but nothing he did allowed him to melt into the wall or get into the hidden room. 

“Draco! What are you doing?”

Draco turned to find Harry hurrying towards him. 

“Put your hands on this wall.”

Giving Draco a questioning look, Harry shrugged and put his hands on the wall. 

Harry didn’t sink through. 

Draco let out a noise of frustration. 

“We’re going to be late,” Harry said. “Here’s your bag. You left it behind when you went Ginny Stalking.”

Harry grinned.

“I am not stalking her,” Draco huffed, ignoring the fact he was indeed stalking her. Harry continued to grin, so Draco let out a noise of annoyance. Rolling his eyes, he said, “At least I’ve made some headway. I followed her and she fell through the wall, then flew out a few seconds later. Just like Wood did. Remember? When he knocked you over in the fall?”

Harry’s expression changed. He was now curious. Harry went back to the wall and put his hand on it. He began to move his hands around in a pattern. 

“Do you think it’s a secret room? Like that room you showed up last year?”

“I don’t know. It doesn’t work the same way. It sucked Ginny in and spit her out. Might have done the same thing to Wood. You should ask him!”

Harry nodded, then reminded Draco again they needed to go to class. Draco took his bag from Harry then stopped dead. He looked around, feeling he was missing something. 

“Harry, what is today?”

“Uh, fourteenth of February. How did you fail to notice? Did you see the Great Hall this morning? Lockhart’s gone all out.”

Harry looked like he was about to puke. Draco had not noticed the Great Hall, as he was too busy waiting to see if Ginny Weasley appeared and attempting to eat something. Getting food in his mouth was hard when he was staring at the door. 

“There were ugly pink flowers everywhere! And then the heart shaped confetti!” Harry ranted, turning around and heading off down the hall. “And the girls. Why do girls have to giggle like that?”

Draco stared at Harry’s retreating form before shaking himself. He caught up with Harry easily, who was ranting about Lockhart’s lurid pink robes.

“Pink!? Like bright hot pink. What bloke wears hot pink willingly? HOT PINK!”

Draco held in a snort at seeing how worked up Harry was getting over Lockhart’s attempts at moral boosting. Lockhart had been bragging for weeks about the fact there hadn’t been an attack since before Christmas. He reckoned the Heir of Slytherin had buggered off, fearful of the Wrath of Lockhart.

More like the hot pink robes Harry was still ranting about. 

“And he’s having these ugly dwarves dressed like Cupid deliver cards throughout the day!” Harry went on, changing topics suddenly. “Oh, then he suggested we ask Snape how to brew a Love Potion. I wanna see someone ask him, he looked like he was about to kill someone. How did you miss this? I mean, the HOT PINK robes! It was like he had a spotlight on him! He was wearing a matching hat with a heart on top!”

Draco shrugged. “Let’s head to class.”

* * *

Throughout the day, dwarfs barged into classes to deliver mostly unwanted and highly embarrassing valentines. The professors were all extremely annoyed, as it seemed each class was disrupted multiple times instead of simply once. By the time lunch rolled around, Draco was pretty sure Professor McGonagall’s mouth had vanished from holding such a pissed off expression over an extended period of time. 

Draco also did not remember the dwarfs being so rude the last time around. Nor interrupting classes so often. Or maybe, no one delivered valentines to the Slytherins like they did Gryffindors? 

So far, Harry hadn’t received any. Harry accounted this to the fact the school was still scared of him and thought he was the Heir of Slytherin.

“You know, you kind of are,” Draco commented as they walked to Charms in the late afternoon.

“I am not. I’m not technically related to Slytherin,” Harry hissed. “I’ve seen the family tree.”

“So have I. I didn’t see any of your relations on there,” Draco pointed out with a frown. “Yet, you’re the snakes new best friend.” 

“I asked Hermione for a book on genealogy. With what Slytherin left behind, what I already knew and what Hermione gave me, I traced myself back to one of the three Perevell Brothers. Slytherin’s daughter married the middle one. He says so himself. I’m not related to the middle brother that I can tell. I don’t know my mother’s genealogy. Slytherin theorized Muggleborns were relatives of wizarding families descended from Squids who mixed with Muggles.”

Harry stopped talking, cocking his head to the side.

“Oh, I might be related to the middle one. I know I’m related to the youngest one by way of my dad.”

Draco, for some unknown reason, felt this was rather important, yet he had no clue why.  

“Actually, you are related to all three,” Draco suddenly announced.

“How do you get that?”

“You’re a Black.”

“I am not.”

“Yes, remember, you’re my cousin. The Blacks mixed with the oldest brother.”

“Oh.”

The boys stared at one another. “How do we find out your mom’s family history?”

“I have no idea. I know my aunt won’t help with that. I think she might die if she finds out she might actually carry wizarding blood.”

Harry looked rather disturbed by this fact. 

“Do you think Slytherin was right? That Muggleborns come from Squibs?”

Harry shrugged. “He, er, really wanted it to be true.”

Harry got that uncomfortable look about him he had almost each time he read something in Slytherin’s journals. Draco was about to ask Harry what was wrong when they were interrupted. 

“OI!”

Draco and Harry both startled. There was a grim-looking, angry dwarf wearing a diaper and wings trying to flag them down. 

“Oi, which one of you is Draco Malfoy?”

Draco’s eyes went wide as the dwarf elbowed a few more people out of the way to get to where the boys stood frozen. Draco felt his face flush and began looking for an exit. He was not about to have a valentine delivered in person in the halls. This would occur over his dead body. In his attempt to find an exit, Draco’s eyes fell on a group of first years. The red hair of one stood out as Draco whirled around to run.

“Oi! You ‘Arry Potter!”

Draco stood staring at another dwarf, who looked rather nasty and was blocking Draco’s escape path. 

“Run,” Harry whispered.

 The dwarves began kicking shins and people got in their way.

“Nowhere left to run,” Draco complained. 

Between the dwarves and the first years, they were blocked in. 

“I’ve got a musical message to deliver to ‘Arry Potter in person!” one called.

“I only got a card!” the other said.

The angry dwarf thrust a card at Draco. Draco took it, nodded and shoved it into his bag. Harry, meanwhile, was still attempting to escape, not taking Draco’s advice that there was nowhere for him to go. Harry attempted to push his way through the crowd of first years. The dwarf launched himself in the air and grabbed Harry around the neck. Harry stumbled, ramming into a first year, whose books went up into the air and rained down rather comically. 

“Not here!” Harry hissed.

“Stay still!”

Harry twirled and ducked, doing some sort of strange move that cast the dwarf off his back. The dwarf flew through the hair and landed in the group of first years, causing insanity to reign. Things went flying, first years went falling and the dwarf did not seem to notice, launching himself at Harry again. Draco bent over and help the first years pick up their scattered belongings. 

“Stay still!” the dwarf grunted, latching onto Harry’s back.

“Let me go!”

Before Draco could move to help Harry out, a loud ripping noise sounded as Harry’s bag spilt and the contents spilled all over the floor. The ink bottles all smashed, sending ink all over the place. Draco began picking up the belongings of the first years faster. Waves of red ink were heading out in all directions. 

Why did Harry have red ink?

“Okay, I’ve got a pile of books,” Draco called, looming above the group of first years and holding the pile high once his hands were full. 

“What is going on here?” drawled a cold voice from in front of Draco. 

“What’s all this commotion? Why is there all this mess in the hallways? Malfoy, what are you doing?”

Draco turned and found Prefect Weasley standing behind him, glowering at the sight of Draco holding the stack of books over his head while surrounded by anxious first years. Draco followed Prefect Weasley’s eyes as he took in the mess in the hallway. There were first years scrambling around, other students attempting to scamper around the mess created by Harry Potter and his ripped bag. Quite a few people had red hands. Red was slowly becoming a dominate color as the ink spread from hands, to faces, to clothing. 

Harry was squatting in the ink, feverishly trying to put his belongings back into his ripped bag. This failed to work, due to the huge, gaping hole, so the contents simply spilled out again. Nott loomed nearby looking like today was Christmas. The dwarf righted himself and grabbed Harry around the neck, causing Harry to fall face first into the floor, right in a puddle of ink.

“Right,” the dwarf said, sitting on Harry’s back. “Here is your singing valentine:

_His eyes are as green as fresh pickled toad,_

_His hair is as dark as a blackboard_

_I wish he was mine, as he’s really divine_

_The hero who conquered the Dark Lord.”_

If it were possible, Harry looked like he wanted to evaporate into thin air. He let his face smash further into the ground, not seeming to care his face was sitting in a puddle of red ink. 

The corridor burst out in laughter. Prefect Weasley jumped into action to break the crowd up. No one was moving though, as they were all too amused, or Draco still had their books. Draco lowered the pile and began to hand the books out while Prefect Weasley shouted at the dwarf, who was still sitting on Harry’s back. Draco got to the bottom of the pile and stared at the ratty, black notebook. 

He had the diary.

Draco had the freaking DIARY!

T.M. Riddle’s diary was in his hands! Draco had it!

Today was Christmas!

“Has anyone seen my diary?” Ginny asked, on her knees looking through the mess of books, parchment, and quills that were still all over the floor. She was careful not to get into the rivers of red ink flowing out from the detonation area of Harry’s bag. 

Draco shoved the diary into his pocket. 

“Lost your diary?” Nott sneered. “Did you write that lovely poem for Potter in there?”

Ginny turned as red as Harry, who was slowly turning redder if that was possible as he lay in a puddle of scarlet ink. Harry further collapsed when he caught sight of Ginny. It was like he had lost the will to live. He was resigned to living the rest of his life with a dwarf on his back in a puddle of red ink. 

“I don’t think Potter liked your valentine much!” Nott shouted at her.

“NOTT!” Prefect Weasley bellowed. “Five points from Slytherin!”

Nott began to argue with Prefect Weasley. Ginny covered her face and ran off, forgetting she had lost her diary. Draco knelt down near Harry’s head and said, “You’re red.”

Harry grumbled something Draco didn’t understand. The dwarf jumped off Harry’s back and sauntered off. Harry did not regain the will to live and remained lying in the middle of the hallway. Draco gathered up Harry’s stuff, used his wand to fix the bag and finally hauled Harry to his feet as the bell rang. Prefect Weasley was still bellowing at Nott, his face as red as Harry. 

“Today is a day to be red,” Draco muttered.

“Ah, Mr. Potter!”

Harry groaned. “Kill me. Just kill me.”

“I see you’ve gotten into the holiday spirit! Dying yourself red!” Lockhart bellowed.

“Potter! Malfoy!” squeaked Flitwick, appearing in the doorway of the classroom. “You’re late.”

“Ah, Mr. Potter is just showing his holiday spirit!” Lockhart praised, clamping a hand on Harry’s shoulder. He failed to notice his palm was now red, as Harry’s robes had soaked up the ink and spread it around. Draco’s hands were also red, as were the ends of his robes. 

What kind of ink did Harry have? 

It must be some sort of magical ink. Harry was literally red from head to toe, except for his hair, which had remained stubbornly black. Everything else was red: his skin, his robes, his shoes, and his clothing. 

Draco was also slowly turning red, due to touching Harry and his things. 

Flitwick did not appear to care his students were red or turning red and pointed in the classroom. Draco grabbed Harry and dragged him into the classroom. Harry stared at the floor and didn’t move to take out his notes, so Draco did it for him. After which, Draco checked himself further for red ink. He had it on his hands, from handling all the stained books and belongings, and the ends of his robes and pants. His shoes were red. Draco used a charm and cleaned his skin. It worked, so he tried it on his clothing and shoes. He was clean. 

Draco glanced at Harry, who was still blankly staring at his desk. 

“Buck up. No one can see you blush,” Draco joked, handing Harry a Muggle pen. Harry stared at it for a long time. “Sometimes, Muggles have the right idea.”

Harry snorted, taking the pen. “I hate ink. I’m going to be red for weeks.”

“Why do you have red ink?” Draco asked, flicking his wand. 

Harry was instantly cleaned. He startled. “Thanks.”

“Now, why do you have red ink?”

Harry sighed, but didn’t respond. Draco had a feeling it had something to do with the Twins. 

Shaking his head, Draco turned his attention to Flitwick, who was yelling in the front of the room. The tiny professor was trying to begin the lesson but was having trouble keeping the class quiet. Flitwick ended up throwing his hands in the air and causing sparks to fly out of his wand before he toppled out of sight behind his tower of books. 

“I got the diary.”

“What?” Harry asked. “How?”

“I picked it up after the dwarf knocked over the first years that were clumped together,” Draco replied.

Relief painted Harry’s face. “Thank god. At least we can do something with it now.”

Draco nodded his agreement. 


	22. My Precious

**Disclaimer: If you know it, I fail to own it.**

* * *

Her diary was gone. She had searched everywhere. She had asked everyone she was with in the hallway that afternoon if they had seen a black notebook, but no one had seen it. 

She even asked Draco Malfoy. It was completely embarrassing, as she was a stuttering mess as she tried to ask. He, of course, was totally nice and almost looked regretful he did not find it. Luckily, she did not have to ask Harry, as he was with Draco when she asked him. 

She went to the scene of the crime, but all that remained was the red ink that had spilled out of Harry’s bag.

It looked like someone had be bludgeoned to death on the ground.

It a sense, someone was: her heart, soul and best friend. 

Tom was gone.

Ginny had lost yet another best friend. And this time she felt like part of her heart had been torn out. It was left bleeding on the ground at the scene of the crime. 

She needed Tom. 

Ginny turned and dragged her feet back to the Gryffindor Tower. 

* * *

“So, what are we going to do with it?” Hermione asked, eyeing the ratty, black notebook as Harry held it, stroking it with his finger. He turned it and held it eye level. It almost looked as if he was attempting to discover it’s secrets through observing it carefully. 

Harry had been doing this since Draco had finally allowed him to touch the stupid book.  

“Give it to Dumbledore,” Draco suggested, feeling like a broken record. He’d basically said the same thing for the past two days. 

“I think…I think we need to keep it,” Harry announced. 

Now, Draco was sure it had been a bad idea to let Harry hold the diary. Harry had that weird look about him again and was stroking the spine of the book like the notebook was a dog or something precious. Draco exchanged looks with Hermione. Hermione turned away and frowned at Harry. 

“Do you know how it works?” Hermione asked, turning back to Draco. 

The three were in the Room of Requirement trying to figure out what to do, as none of them agreed on a course of action. Draco wanted to get rid of it, Hermione didn’t know what she wanted to do with it, while Harry wanted to hold it. Hermione had studied the diary, but found nothing sinister about it. Draco was sure she didn’t want to hand it over because she wanted to know what secrets it held. 

“Do you see this?” Harry asked, holding the book back up at eye level. “It looks like blood.”

“What?” Draco screeched.

Hermione snatched the book. She put it through a similar examination as Harry had been doing. Frowning, she transfigured her quill into a magnify glass and held it to the book. 

“I think he’s right. It looks like…well, almost like blood spatter.” 

She opened the book with a finger and flicked through the pages till she landed in July 1943. Hermione frowned.

“What?” Harry asked.

She silently held out the notebook, which Harry snatched. 

“Those kind of look like finger prints,” Harry commented. 

“Finger prints that could belong to an eleven-year-old girl?” Hermione asked in a quiet voice.

Draco now snatched the book. Sure enough, there were several finger prints on the faded pages. The blood spatter on the outside he’d never noticed before also appeared to be smeared finger prints as if bloody hands had handled the book. A cold weight sunk in Draco’s chest as he turned the pages again.

“Do you feel anything?” Harry asked. “I mean, different than before?”

“No. It still feels evil,” Draco muttered. “Whose blood…do you think that’s Atlanta’s?”

Hermione frowned and glanced at Harry, who blanched. 

“Draco?”

“Hermione?”

“How far have you read in that time travel book?” she asked.

Harry looked confused and pale now. His green eyes darted towards the diary, which sat in Draco’s hands still. Draco handed it to Harry, who clearly was itching to hold it. Harry took it and went back to studying the outside. 

“Not as far as you clearly. What are you thinking?”

“Well, buried deep in the spells section is an obscure mention of time travel by blood. You enchant an object, imbue it with the person’s blood and it can pull them through time through their blood.”

Draco blinked. Several times. 

“If, in the past, Riddle had gotten her blood…and seeing what he did to her, it’s clear he had some of her blood somewhere, and he…”

“How did she originally bleed on it, though? And where’s that blood?”

“It’d need a lot of her blood,” Hermione commented. “I think. I don’t know. Your book did not go into depth, but seeing how…”

“Clever,” Harry filled in.

“Yes, clever Riddle seemed to be, it is not a far stretch to think he figured it out,” Hermione said. 

“So, the diary is the reason she, well, left,” Draco offered. 

“Is she the only one who can use it as a travel device?” Harry inquired.

“Yes,” Hermione supplied. “She was.”

Draco tapped his fingers on the arm of the green chair he was seated in. Harry petted the book, looking at it with a different expression on his face now. No one had enlightened them as to what had exactly occurred to Atlanta while she was in the past. Even after asking his mother several times, she did not feel it was her place to tell him. 

“So, other than dragging Atlanta Black into the past, what else does that thing do? How does it work?” Hermione asked, leaning forward. 

Draco remained silent. He had no idea. He looked at Harry, who looked up and shrugged. Hermione sat back, looking dejected. 

“Did you pick this up before or after I spilled ink over everything?” Harry asked, glancing up at Draco. 

Draco frowned. “I’m not sure. I might have. I had a pile before you dyed the floor red. But, after you did that, I picked up more. It was at the bottom of the pile, or was simply the last book left in my hands when I realized what I was holding.”

“So, since it’s not covered in ink, either you picked it up before my bag ripped or…”

Harry trailed off, looking pensive. He pulled the coffee table closer to him and set the diary on it, flipping it open to the middle of the book. 

“What are you going to do, Harry?” Hermione asked, leaning forward. 

“Writing in it.”

“NO!” Draco shouted, launching himself across the space between himself and Harry. He landed with a thud on the coffee table, his hand flying to land on top of the open book. “It might…do something evil. Atlanta bled on it somehow and it dragged her through time!”

Harry gave Draco a defiant look. He yanked the book out from under Draco’s hand, made a pen appear from somewhere and wrote in the book. Draco let out a high pitched noise that was rather unbecoming. 

The three held their breaths as Harry set the book down next to Draco’s hand. Draco leaned over and peered upside down at what Harry had written. 

**_Hi._ **

The word sunk into the page and vanished. 

They waited for something to happen. 

Nothing happened. 

“Well, that was anticlimactic,” Hermione muttered.

She spoke too soon, though. 

_Hello. My name is T.M. Riddle, what might your name be?_

“Did it just write back?” Draco gasped and fell off the table. 

“What should I do?” Harry asked, voice laced with slight panic. He clearly had not suspected it would write back to him as T.M. Riddle. 

“Make up a name,” Hermione quickly said. 

“Make one up?”

“Yes.”

“No, we should not write to it. It can think for itself! It thinks its name is Riddle!” Draco exclaimed, rolling over and getting to his feet. 

Where were the brains of these two?

“But, we can ask him if he knows anything about the Chamber of Secrets and what he got the Special Service award for,” Hermione pointed out. “Then we can really figure out if he’s Voldemort or not! We won’t get sucked in like Atlanta! Our blood can’t be on there. And if it is, we just won’t bleed on the book.”

“That is insane!”

“It is not! It is the most logical way to gather more knowledge and information regarding our current situation! If we figure out how the diary works, we can stop the attacks!”

“We can stop the attacks by giving the diary to Dumbledore! He will know how to destroy it!”

“What if it’s a fixed point in time, Draco! What if it’s supposed to do….” 

Hermione stopped talking, pressing her lips together. Draco felt the blood drain from his face and glanced at Harry, who was scribbling in the notebook, an intense look on his face. He looked back at Hermione, knowing she was about to shout about whatever Potter had done at the end of second year the first time around. 

“We don’t know if that is the fixed point,” Draco said in a calmer, softer voice once it was clear Harry wasn’t listening. 

“But it could be. It might HAVE to happen, Draco,” Hermione pointed out, giving him a rather angry look. “We have to let him.” 

“Er, guys?” Harry looked up from the notebook, which he had taken back into his lap.

“What?” Hermione asked, turning her full attention to Harry. 

“He says he can’t tell me, but he can show me what he did to get the award, as he was told he wasn’t to ever tell anyone what happened,” Harry said, looking perplexed. “And he has no idea who Atlanta or Calliope happens to be. He says he is only the memories from Riddle’s fifth year at Hogwarts.” 

He set the diary back on the table and knelt down next to it. 

“Should I say yes?” Harry asked, looking up at Draco and then Hermione. 

“How is he going to show you?” Draco demanded. “If he plans to suck you into the diary, no way.”

Harry scribbled in the diary. He paused. Draco went over and stood over his shoulder.

_This diary holds my memories of the terrible things that happened in the spring of my fifth year at Hogwarts. I will take you inside my memories of the night I caught the person responsible for opening the Chamber of Secrets._

“He’ll show us Voldemort!” Harry gasped. 

_Let me show you._

Before Draco could stop Harry, he wrote one word.

 _OK_.

The next moment, a window opened in the diary and sucked Harry’s head in. Hermione screamed, jumping up. Draco threw his arm out, stopping her. He peered at the diary, frowning deeply.

“It’s a Pensive,” Draco remarked.

“A what?”

“A Pensive. It’s usually a bowl or something used to store excess memories you want to explore or allow others to view them. He must have…” Draco trailed off, suddenly noticing the runes that were usually on Pensive bowls were on the diary around the area where Harry’s head was currently lodged. 

Draco gasped in shock and a little bit of awe. 

“He was an utter genius,” Draco breathed.

Something cold settled in his stomach as he stated this fact. While he knew he had been right when he had realized in the autumn that T.M. Riddle was in fact Voldemort, he almost hoped now he wasn’t. Such a brilliant wizard lost to the endless dark tunnel of the darkest magics…tragic. 

“So, what is going on?”

“Harry is viewing Riddle’s memory of whatever happened to get him the Special Service award.”

“Okay. So, why would Voldemort care about that?”

“Well, if he is in fact Riddle, to brag?”

“But when the Chamber opened, it was his fault!”

“It was covered up! The diary told Harry that he as told he couldn’t speak of it! He wasn’t allowed to brag he’d caught the person who opened the Chamber, nor could he brag it was in fact him who opened it in the first place! So, he left the diary behind so he could brag!”

That made perfect sense. Someone as egoistical as Voldemort would have died not being able to gloat about something this big. 

“But…why would Voldemort put himself into a diary? Put the memory of him getting the award and then give it to your father telling him it would open the Chamber of Secrets?”

Draco blinked at her. “He didn’t put himself in there. He simply put his memory of it happening. Or his memory at least of doing whatever he did to end the tragic events of that year. It might have other memories and spells in it. But Harry only asked about the Special Service Award and the Chamber of Secrets. Riddle is showing him those two things are linked together.” 

Hermione pressed her lips together. They both were silent till Harry’s gasping brought them out of their own thoughts. 

“What happened?” Hermione asked. 

“Riddle blamed Hagrid,” Harry gasped. “And said it was a spider! This huge, hairy spider with a billion eyes.” 

“What?” Hermione asked. “We know it’s a snake. There’s no spider who could Petrify people.”

Draco frowned. 

“Well, I saw Riddle, who is named Tom— he reacted rather strangely each time he was called Tom in the memory. No one seemed to notice, but I did. He cringed, but only with his eyes.”

Harry made a vague gesture at his face. 

“Oh!” Hermione gasped, clapping her hands together. “That makes sense! Tom is ordinary!”

“No, he’s not,” Harry quickly stated, looking affronted.

Hermione stared at Harry blankly for a moment. 

“Excuse me?” Draco asked, wondering what was going on with Harry. 

Harry got a rather stubborn expression on his face and stated, “He’s anything but ordinary.”

Hermione waved her arms around. “That’s my point! He’s clearly rather clever if he did in fact make the diary in order to allow people to know what he’d done! And used it to store his own memories like a Pensive!”

Draco noticed she left out the whole time travel via blood thing Riddle had done.

Harry wore the same obstinate expression as before, so Hermione turned to Draco, clearly looking for help. Draco had no idea what to say or do. He gave her a helpless looked. She let out a huff.

“Okay, he doesn’t like the name _Tom_. Tom is a common name. Many people are called Tom.”

“Many people are called Harry,” Harry pointed out.

“Yes, good. But, for someone who likes to be unique and knows he is more than ordinary, to have such a common, widely shared name would be…”

“Disgraceful?” Draco asked, seeing where she was going with this. 

“In a sense. He wouldn’t like it. It doesn’t set him _apart_ enough,” Hermione went on. “However, a name like Lord Voldemort would.”

Harry frowned. “Wait, I thought we didn’t think they were the same.”

Hermione turned back towards Harry. “Harry, think about it.”

“I have! Tom didn’t know the monster was a snake! All he knew was Hagrid was raising this deadly spider! How do we know the spider didn’t kill the girl?”

Silence fell, sinking over them like a lead block. Hermione stared at Harry, her mouth hanging open. Draco gaped, wondering if Harry had been brainwashed while his head was in the diary. 

“Harry, do you hear yourself?” Draco asked, looking concerned.

“What?”

“Harry, you know your snake killed Myrtle,” Hermione whispered, looking scared. “She told you.” 

Harry stared, eyes wide. “Oh, yeah…”

Hermione leaned across the table and took the diary from Harry, who didn’t protest. She slipped it into her own bag. Harry fell backwards on to his behind, looking pale and perplexed. He blinked rapidly, then ruffled his hair at the back of his head. 

“All right. So, Tom Riddle either framed Hagrid for the whole Chamber of Secrets thing as he is Voldemort or he foolishly believed it was the spider who was attacking students because he’s actually not as clever as we think he is,” Hermione stated slowly, eyeing Harry. 

Harry remained silent, but continued to ruffle his hair. 

“What did he exactly show you, Harry?” Draco asked.

Harry explained the memory. Tom Riddle had been speaking with the headmaster about staying at Hogwarts over the summer due to his status as an orphan. Draco didn't blame him. If Draco had a choice between an orphanage and Hogwarts, he’d stay at school. After being told the school might close because of the monster, Tom Riddle had set off to find the monster. 

“I’m pretty sure he already knew Hagrid was raising the spider and what it exactly was,” Harry offered. “As he left the headmaster’s office, strode off down the stairs, ran into Dumbledore, then went off after Hagrid. He knew exactly where Hagrid was with the spider.”

“Well, you do know how Hagrid likes…dangerous animals,” Hermione offered kindly. “I’m sure he didn’t realize how dangerous the spider was.”

“True. But…how did Riddle know,” Harry insisted. 

“Maybe he had discovered Hagrid before?” Draco offered. “Didn’t you find him listed as a prefect?”

Hermione nodded. “He might have come across Hagrid during his rounds. Hagrid might have convinced Riddle the spider wasn’t harming anyone. And if, in fact, Riddle is not Voldemort, then that explains why Riddle automatically thought to turn Hagrid in. I mean, maybe he didn’t know there’s no spider who can Petrify people? Or maybe no one got Petrified last time? Maybe only Myrtle died and thus, for Riddle to jump to the conclusion the spider got her was logical?”

Draco gave her a look of confusion and she rolled her eyes toward Harry, who was frowning. From his behavior, it was as if he did not want to believe Tom Riddle was Lord Voldemort. 

“So, since Riddle didn’t know about the snake, he turned Hagrid in,” Harry said, finality in his tone.

“OR he is in fact Lord Voldemort and framed Hagrid to get the school off his back and remain here over the summer,” Draco said. Harry frowned and rubbed the bridge of his nose, while still ruffling his hair with his other hand. “Harry, why don’t you want to believe they are the same person?”

“Why would they award him for framing someone?”

“I don’t know,” Draco offered. “To keep him quiet about the whole mess. I bet the headmaster was worried he’d try to get glory or something for catching the person who opened the Chamber and let the monster loose. So, they gave him a fancy award to shut him up.

“But, let’s look at the facts. We know Voldemort gave the diary to my father and told him it was charmed to open the Chamber of Secrets,” Draco reminded Harry. 

“We know it belongs to a T.M. Riddle,” Hermione offered. “And we know T.M. Riddle was awarded the Special Service Award, but the reason wasn’t listed.”

“Because they covered it up,” Harry said. “Riddle was told to never speak of it.”

“Exactly.”

“Riddle also went after Hagrid, who was raising a huge spider in a closet,” Draco said. “This got the headmaster off his back and framed someone for his crimes.”

“Hagrid and the spider. Okay.”

Draco and Hermione both noted that Harry did not correct Draco when he said “his crimes.” 

“And with Hagrid’s reputation for liking monsters, it is safe to assume they all figured he was just being himself and not thinking his monster could harm anyone,” Hermione pointed out carefully. “Didn’t you say Hagrid was expelled?”

Harry nodded.

“He was?” Draco asked.

“Yes, in his third year. I guess for this matter,” Harry offered. “I feel horrible now. I know he didn’t set the monster loose. The spider didn’t harm anyone.”

“But he was raising a monster spider!” Hermione exclaimed, loosing it finally. “From your description, it’s safe to say it was an Acromantula. They eat live prey, no matter what it is!”

“And Hagrid got a job,” Draco pointed out, knowing Harry would ignore what Hermione had told him about the dangers of the spider. “So, they must have known it really wasn’t the spider.”

Realization hit Draco over the head with a stick once the words were out of his mouth. He turned to Hermione, waiting to see if she reached the same conclusion. It took her a moment, but she soon arrived.

“Oh! They knew. They knew it wasn’t the spider! But, to keep the parents and more than likely the Ministry happy, they allowed Hagrid to be expelled,” Hermione breathed. “How horrible.” 

“I think Dumbledore knew,” Harry said, eyebrows knitted together in thought. “I just realized. When Riddle came across Dumbledore in the memory…Dumbledore had a look about him that clearly stated he thought Riddle was hiding something. Hagrid said it was Dumbledore who got him the job here at Hogwarts.”

“And Dumbledore would have been smart enough to know a spider wasn’t doing the attacking,” Hermione added quietly. “So, yes, he did what he could for Hagrid after he got kicked out of school. I bet he knew it was Riddle behind the attacks. That’s why he’s so confused right now. He knows Voldemort…well, er, Tom Riddle’s not here.” 

Harry’s whole body sagged and he buried his face in his hands. 

“So, are we settled that Tom Riddle is in fact Voldemort?” Draco asked. 

Hermione nodded, eyeing Harry. Harry lifted his face out of his hands and nodded as well. 

“All right, let’s get rid of the diary,” Harry said, admitting defeat.  

Victory!

* * *

Ginny was not feeling very good. Since loosing her diary, she felt like someone had ripped her soul out. It was bleeding. Her stomach was in knots and she had little to no energy. Percy had dosed her with Pepper Up potion again. 

She needed Tom back.

Ginny had a vague idea who had taken the diary. She theorized Draco had it. He had been gathering up books that fateful day when her diary had gone missing. And maybe that was why he’d looked regretful. It wasn’t because he was _nice_ it was because he STOLE Tom. 

She stomped down to the Great Hall, vowing to get Tom back. It had been three days now. Narrowing her eyes, she waited till Draco, Harry and the bushy haired girl stood and made their way out of the Great Hall. They walked in a tight ball together. As she neared the trio, she felt something come over her. A tugging in her middle pulled her towards the bushy haired girl. 

She had the diary. 

Why did she have Tom? Had Draco given her Tom? 

How _dare_ he give Tom to the bushy haired girl!

The bushy hair girl waved to the boys, who began to head up the stairs, while the bushy haired girl headed to the dungeons. Ginny followed. The girl was going to Potions. Ginny began to panic, unsure how to get the diary off the girl. 

Before she could work herself into a tizzy, she blacked out. 

Ginny came back to herself some hours later. She was holding the diary and she was standing on the fourth floor. She had no idea where she was on the fourth floor. She turned a few times before putting the diary into her pocket. 

It didn’t matter. She had gotten Tom back. She felt like she was whole again. The last three days without Tom had been horrible. Never again was she letting the diary out of her sight.


	23. Futures, Awakenings, and Attacks

**Disclaimer: If you know it, I do not own it. Parts taken from _Chamber of Secrets_ , written by JKR.**

* * *

“Have you seen Hermione?” Draco asked Harry at dinner. 

Hermione usually joined them at the tail end of lunch, but she hadn’t turned up. And now she hadn’t turned up for dinner. Draco had not seen her since she had left for Potions that morning. Harry shook his head in response to Draco’s question, leaving Draco feeling uneasy. Suddenly, McGonagall burst into the Great Hall and hurried towards Dumbledore, followed by Snape, who looked upset. 

Was that possible? Snape upset? Was the world ending? 

The three professors had a whispered conversation. Dumbledore stood up and hurried out of the Great Hall, followed by McGonagall and Snape. Harry and Draco looked at one another. The hall broke out into loud conversation upon the exit of the professors and headmaster. Harry and Draco quickly stood and exited the Great Hall. Without needing to ask one another where he wanted to go, they headed for the Hospital Wing. As they neared, they heard whispered conversation.

“No one found her all afternoon?”

“No, sir, she was in an unused classroom,” Snape said, his voice easy to pick out.

“Flilius is informing his students after dinner. I don’t think we should let the students move without an adult with them any longer,” McGonagall said. 

“Do we know what she was doing in that classroom alone?” Dumbledore asked. 

Silence.

Draco turned and stared at Harry. Harry stared back at him. Without verbal communication, they moved till they were hidden from view of the professors in a broom closet. 

“Hermione’s been Petrified,” Harry whispered. “In the daylight hours. All the others have been at night.”

“It’s too early,” Draco whispered, pulling at his hair. “It’s too early.”

“I know! Usually the thing only attacks at night,” Harry whispered, failing to realize what Draco meant. 

Hermione wasn’t supposed to be Petrified for weeks. Not till the next Quidditch game. 

What had changed this time around? 

And she’d been on her way back from the library when it’d happen the first time, not on her way to Potions. Everyone else had been Petrified where they had before. Exactly where they’d been before. 

What was going on?

“Draco?”

“Yes?”

“Hermione had the diary.”

Draco felt the blood drain from his body. He stopped pulling at his hair and stared at Harry, alarm rising. 

“We lost the diary.”

“Again,” Draco whispered, horrified. 

“Draco?”

“Yes, Harry?”

“What are we going to do?”

“I have no idea.” 

“I think we ought to speak to Hagrid. About what happened. The spider ran like crazy when Riddle tried to capture it.”

Draco studied Harry for a few minutes. 

“They’re going to restrict our movements,” Draco pointed out needlessly. 

“We’ll use the cloak.”  

* * *

Student movements were greatly restricted. Teachers escorted them to classes, they all had to be in their Common Rooms after dinner till breakfast. Easter Break quickly approached and Draco and Harry still had been unable to escape in order to speak to Hagrid. Hagrid, in fact, had made himself scarce. Neither boy had so much as glimpsed the giant man since Hermione had been attacked. 

“We have to choose new subjects,” Harry announced, sounding as if someone had died one evening.

“I know. Why do you sound so down?” Draco asked, staring as Harry sunk into the spot next to Draco on the couch in front of the fire. 

The Common Room was overly crowded these days, as no one was allowed out. Draco had wanted a table for the evening, but the only spot left open was on the couch. Harry squeezed in between the arm of the couch and Draco, only fitting due to the fact he was abnormally scrawny and little. 

“It’s just…this is something Hermione would take so serious, it’d be funny,” Harry said, sounding wistful. “And now she won’t choose her classes with us.”

Harry glanced up at Draco with huge, bright eyes. He cast them back down quickly. Draco tugged on Harry’s sleeve and jerked his head towards Neville. Neville snagged a table from some retreating sixth years and proceeded to explode parchment all over the table. Neville began to leaf through the parchments and began to look bewildered. At Draco’s head jerk, Harry looked confused, but willingly came along when Draco dragged him across the room. 

“Hey, Nev,” Draco greeted, thrusting Harry into a chair across from Neville. Draco fell into the chair next to Neville. Neville looked up, looking somewhat bemused and blinked a few times. Draco indicated to the mess on the table and asked, “What’s all this?”

“I wrote letters to everyone in my family asking for advice on what to take next year,” Neville admitted. He frowned deeply. “I…I don’t think it helped really.”

Draco glanced over the letters. The advice was all over the board. No wonder the kid was confused.

“Well, you like plants, right?”

“Yes.”

“You can’t drop Herbology,” Harry helpfully pointed out.

“I wasn’t suggesting it. You keep all the subjects we already take, but I asked because if he knows he likes that sort of thing, he might enjoy Care of Magical creatures. You like taking care of the plants, right?”

Neville nodded. “So, I should sign up for that? Will that help me get a job?”

“What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know.”

“Take Care of Magical creatures,” Draco advised. 

“What are you taking?”

Draco glanced between the two boys. The first time around he had taken Care of Magical Creatures (useless really and somewhat dangerous) and Ancient Runes. He sucked at Ancient Runes, but maybe this time around he’d get a good review and understand it better. It would be useful. Also, now since he was friends with Hermione, she could help him. She already had a rudimentary understanding of it from that book for dummies. 

“Ancient Runes and Arithmancy,” Draco answered. 

“That sounds hard,” Neville commented.

Harry looked like he had swallowed a slug. 

“What were you going to take?” Draco asked, eyeing Harry.

“I don’t know. I closed my eyes and jabbed the parchment with my wand.”

He pulled out the parchment they’d been given to select their extra classes. There were two burned holes in it, next to Care of Magical Creatures and Divination. Draco frowned. 

“What?”

“Divination? It’s useless unless you have the Sight. Harry, I don’t think you have the Sight,” Draco said.

Harry shrugged. “I don’t know. Percy shared his experiences with me, but I didn’t find it very useful. He took Divination and Muggle Studies. I grew up around Muggles, so I don’t want to take Muggle Studies. Percy actually recommended Divination. He told me to play to my strengths.”

“Which are?”

“Flying.”

Draco sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. 

“They don’t offer an advanced flying class though,” Harry offered. “So, I chose at random.” 

“I’ll take those,” Neville said, searching through his letters for the parchment with the classes listed. “That way, if we are lousy, at least we’re lousy together.”

Draco felt something in his stomach burn. He eyed Harry, who looked somewhat excited, so he dismissed what he was feeling. It would be good for Neville to get closer to Harry. While Draco knew those two classes were very useless, at least they’d be together. 

“Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I talk you out of Divination?”

“Why?”

“Ancient Runes can’t be _that_ hard.”

Harry shook his head. “No. I’m taking Divination. With Neville.”

Neville looked between the boys, worry appearing in the form of a line between his eyebrows. 

“Fine,” Draco conceded. 

“I’m sure Hermione will take the same classes as you,” Harry offered, grinning.

Draco stared at him. “She’s going to sign up for everything once she’s awake.” 

* * *

“PERFECT QUIDDITCH CONDITIONS!”

Draco sat up suddenly, blinking quickly, his heart racing. 

“OLIVER!”

“UP! UP! UP! UP! UP!” Oliver Wood sung out in a sing-song voice that did not fit him. 

Draco tore his curtains open and noticed Wood attempting to pull Harry out of his bed. Harry did not appear to be flying through the air, so he’d clearly anchored himself to something to prevent the usual flight he took whenever Wood attempted to move Harry. 

“You need to have a decent breakfast, Harry!” Wood went on shouting at the top of his voice. 

Draco groaned, flopping backwards onto his bed. He heard Thomas and Finnigan make similar noises. The only one Wood had failed to wake up happened to be Neville, who continued to snore on peacefully.  

“Oliver!” Draco shouted, as Wood continued to attempt (loudly) to drag Harry out of bed. 

Draco turned his head toward Harry’s bed. Harry was gripping a bedpost for dear life. Wood paused, turning his attention to Draco. Draco stared at him, making a face he knew his father made when he was serious and on the verge of hexing someone with a dark, horribly painful curse. 

Wood gulped. 

“Where did you come from in the fall when you ran Harry over? How do you get into the mysterious room there near the girl’s loo on the second floor?”

The color drained from Wood’s face and he stared at Draco as if he was seeing him for the first time. He did, at least, drop Harry, who fell bonelessly back on the bed and scrambled to the other side, out of Wood’s reach. 

“What? I don’t know,” Wood said, his voice somewhat high. He turned back to Harry. “Hurry up. Teams waiting.”

Without another word, Wood left. 

“He didn’t seem pleased you figured that out,” Harry said quietly, while the other two in the room pulled their curtains shut and grumbled. “Do you think he knows what the room is or that it’s hidden?”

“Oh, he knows. He doesn’t want us to know what he was doing in there,” Draco surmised. “I really wonder how you get in there.”

Draco had tried a few times since February (when he could escape), but had gotten nowhere. Harry sighed, but pulled on his clothes and dragged himself to breakfast. 

“Remember, if you want to scare him off, just ask about the room,” Draco reminded Harry. 

* * *

Draco sat down in the stands a few hours later feeling as if he was lacking half of his brain. He had no clue how Harry was going to manage to play today when they were working on so little sleep. Wood had woken Harry at four in the morning. Clearly, Wood failed to realize sleep was vital to staying on a broom. Neither Draco or Harry had been able to go back to sleep after Wood woke them up. 

“What’s up?” Neville asked, lightly elbowing Draco in the ribs. “You, Dean and Seamus are all…well, clearly not all here today.”

“We’re zombies,” Thomas offered, blinking slowly. 

“Wood woke us up at the crack of dawn,” Finnigan announced grumpily.

Draco nodded in agreement. 

“Zombies,” Thomas repeated, holding his arms out in front of him and making some rather strange noises. 

Neville knitted his eyebrows together. He opened his mouth to say something, when McGonagall’s voice suddenly filled the stadium. 

“All students are to make their way back to the House Common Rooms, where their Heads of Houses will give them further information. As quickly as you can, please!”

The boys all exchanged looks and joined the rest of the school in swarming back towards the school. 

“Do you think there’s been another attack?” Neville asked, grabbing onto the sleeve of Draco’s jumper in order to not to loose the taller boy in the crowd. 

“More than likely,” Draco admitted. 

* * *

“That’s two Gryffindors, the Gryffindor ghost, two Ravenclaws, and one Hufflepuff,” Lee Jordan, the twins’ friend, announced later that day. “Haven’t any of the teachers noticed that the Slytherins are all safe? It’s so clearly obvious it’s the Slytherins behind this. _Heir_ of Slytherin, the _monster_ of Slytherin? Why not just chuck all those Slytherins out?”

Something roared up within Draco at Jordan’s words. Harry paled and shrunk into the chair he was sitting in, trying to look invisible. 

“You’re clearly not the Heir of Slytherin,” one of the twins announced, upon noticing Harry’s reaction. “Naw, you’d never attack your own friend.”

Harry blinked, looking at the twin as if he was going to bite him. 

“I’d never attack anyone, Fred,” Harry informed him in a voice that sounded so much different than how Harry currently looked. His voice sounded sure and strong, while Harry appeared small and scared.  

“Never thought you would,” Fred announced, frowning at tiny, balled Harry. 

“Who was it this time?” someone asked near by. “McGonagall didn’t say.”

“The Gryffindor was Thelma Holmes and her friend Penelope Clearwater. She’s the Ravenclaw. They are both prefects, hence why Percy is so quiet. I don’t think he thought a monster would attack a prefect,” George whispered. 

Harry nodded, but had the look that he wasn’t really listening any longer on his face. Draco glanced over at Percy, who was sitting in a chair off to the side staring into space, pale and stunned. Wood was sitting next to him, arm over his shoulder and quietly talking into Percy’s ear, a look of concern on his face. 

It struck Draco as somewhat odd to see Wood and Percy Weasley together in such a manner, but he had bigger to things to worry about. He elbowed Harry. They both stood and went to the empty dormitory. 

“So? What do we do?” Harry asked, hopping onto Draco’s bed and resuming a balled position. 

“We need to sneak out tonight,” Draco announced. “We’ve waited too long.” 

“But, we have to stay in the tower unless we’re in class,” Harry began but Draco held up a hand.

Harry fell silent as Draco strode over to Harry’s trunk and flung it open. It was only after he was digging around Draco thought maybe he should have gone for the less dramatic method and simply told Harry what he wanted. A glance at Harry’s face told him Harry didn’t care that Draco was going through his trunk, so Draco continued to dig around. 

Draco found what he wanted near the bottom, oddly enough. It was clear Harry had not used the Invisibility Cloak often this year. Draco unfurled it, shaking it out. Harry’s face lit up and he slapped himself in the head.

“I cannot believe it. I’m a total idiot! I said weeks ago we would use it!”

“I know,” Draco admitted. “But, I think we need to get a move on it. Now that two students have been attacked at once, I think the Ministry is going to make a move.”

Draco clutched the Cloak in his hands. Last time, he remembered after the attack involving Granger and Clearwater, his father had pulled the strings and gotten Dumbledore canned and sent Hagrid to Azkaban. Things were moving differently this time, but his father and Altair Black had spoken about dismissing Dumbledore and now was the perfect time to do it. While Draco didn’t know why Harry really wanted to talk to Hagrid, Draco felt like he needed to do something. Tonight, the night after the attacks, would be the last chance to speak to Hagrid if things went as they did last time. 


	24. Follow the Spiders

**Disclaimer: Parts of the dialogue come from _Chamber of Secrets_ by JKR. If you know, I do not own it.**

* * *

Draco and Harry went to bed with the others. It felt like a lifetime before Neville, Thomas and Finnigan got tired of discussing the Chamber of Secrets, a hot topic to dwell on before falling asleep. Finally, the chatter died down and Neville’s soft snores filled the room. Harry shot up, threw his covers off and quickly pulled his clothes back on. Draco slid out of bed already dressed.

“How did you do that?”

“Magic,” Draco joked, gathering up his wand and shoving it into his pocket. 

Harry rolled his eyes and grabbed his Invisibility Cloak and threw it over them. Together, they made their way slowly down the stairs and into the empty Common Room. Prefect Weasley was sitting at the entrance hole, eyes darting all over the place. Near his feet, oddly enough, was Oliver Wood. The burly sixth year boy was fast asleep leaning against the lanky Weasley. Exchanging inquisitive looks, the two younger boys quietly crept passed the pair of sixth year boys and managed to use one of Wood’s rather loud snorts to open and close the entrance hole door. 

Once they were outside Gryffindor Tower, their journey did not get any easier. Teachers, prefects, and ghosts were all marching the corridors in pairs, looking around for any unusual activities. Like two second year boys under an Invisibility Cloak trying to get outside in the middle of the night.

“We’re never going to get outside,” Draco complained after a close call with Snape and McGonagall. 

“I wish I had more sneezing powder,” Harry muttered, looking in his pockets and coming out empty.

“Oh, was that how you got him to sneeze,” Draco grumbled, trying hard not to laugh at the memory of the loud sneeze Snape had given off that allowed them to escape. Draco was sure it rattled the whole castle. 

Harry shrugged, jerking his head towards the door.

Oddly, no one was in the Entrance Hall. 

“We’re almost there,” Harry hissed.

Draco sighed and indicated he was ready to go. They crept down the stairs and somehow managed to get to the oak front doors. It was a tiny miracle the doors opened and the pair got outside. 

Draco had the odd urge to shout, “We’re free!”

He refrained. 

Once outside, they picked up the pace. Ten minutes later, the pair had reached Hagrid’s hut. Hagrid was still awake, judging by the amount of light pouring out the windows.

“Keeping the Cloak on?” Draco asked.

“Till we’re inside,” Harry confirmed, knocking on the door through the Cloak. 

The door flew open and they found themselves face to face (in Draco’s case) with a crossbow. Fang barked loudly behind Hagrid, attempting to find whoever was knocking and causing his master such stress. 

Harry quickly ripped the Cloak off, revealing a rather white and cross eyed Draco and himself. 

“Oh. It’s you two,” Hagrid said, lowering the weapon. “Best get in here.”

Harry and Draco scurried inside.

“What do you have that thing for?” Harry asked, pointing at the crossbow that Hagrid was setting down near the door.

“Nothin’. I’ve bin expectin’…don’t matter. Sit down. I’ll make tea.”

Hagrid went into the kitchen and proceeded to spill water all over the place. Several times he almost put the fire out in his attempts to put the kettle on. Draco and Harry exchanged looks as Hagrid managed to smash his tea pot, shattering it into a million pieces.

“Oops,” Hagrid said, staring at the mess as if he was surprised to find the tea pot in bits. 

“Are you okay, Hagrid?” Harry asked. “What’s going on?”

“Nothin’.”

“Did you hear about Hermione and the other two girls? It’s been a while since we’ve been able to come down,” Harry went on, studying the giant man carefully. 

Draco considered the large man’s strange behavior. Hagrid was nervous, jumpy and kept glancing at his windows— which was kind of silly, as the curtains were drawn. By the time the water boiled, Hagrid looked like he was about to collapse. After pouring them large mugs of boiling water (Draco and Harry didn’t bother to request tea, who knew what they’d actually wind up with), Harry finally said, “We know you’re not guilty.”

Hagrid jerked, dropping the plate he was busy putting fruitcake on. It smashed, joining the tea pot. 

“What?”

“The Chamber of Secrets,” Harry said, glancing at Draco. 

“The monster in that thing isn’t a spider,” Draco added. “It’s a snake. Why would Slytherin, a man who prided himself at being able to speak to snakes, pick a spider to be the monster within his Chamber of Secrets?”

Hagrid looked between the two boys. There were no words to describe the look on his face. He opened his mouth to say something when there was a loud knock on the door. 

Hagrid jumped and knocked everything on the talbe over. Harry and Draco scrambled, as neither fancied getting scalded with hot water. 

“Hide! Hide!” Hagrid hissed, waving his large hands around. 

Harry and Draco scurried to the other side of the hut, near the bed and pressed themselves into a corner. As Hagrid went to pick the crossbow out again, Harry remembered to cover them with the Invisibility Cloak. Hagrid cast one glance around to make sure they were gone before he threw the door open. 

“Good evening, Hagrid.”

It was Dumbledore. Hagrid lowered the crossbow and stepped aside. Dumbledore entered, a grave look on his face. Harry and Draco exchanged looks. Draco had a feeling what was coming. Harry’s quiet intake of breath altered Draco there was someone else with Dumbledore.

It was Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic.

Harry’s wide eyes showed surprise. Fudge appeared rather rumpled and anxious. Upon seeing Fudge, Hagrid went grey and collapsed into a chair.

“Bad business, Hagrid,” Fudge started in clipped tones. “Very bad business. Had to come. Four attacks on Muggleborns. Things’ve gone far enough. The Ministry must act.”

“I never,” Hagrid started, looking imploringly at Dumbledore.

“I want it understood, Cornelius, that Hagrid has my full confidence,” Dumbledore said, frowning at Fudge, who failed to notice in favor of twirling his lime green bowler hat between his hands. 

“Look, Albus, Hagrid’s record is against him. Last time…the Ministry must act. Two at once! The school governors have been in touch and want action.”

“Yet again, Cornelius, I tell you that taking Hagrid away will not help in the slightest.”

Draco had never seen Dumbledore so angry. He did not sound any different, but his blue eyes were full of fire as he stared down at the minister. 

There was a clear reason now Fudge was refusing to meet Dumbledore’s eyes in favor for staring at his own hat. 

“I am under a lot of pressure. Got to be seen doing something, Albus,” Fudge went on. “If it turns out it wasn’t Hagrid, we’ll let him go. But, I’ve got to take him now. I didn’t bring the Aurors if you noticed? Not making a big hoopla.” 

 _Hoopla?_ How did this man become minister? 

“Take me?” Hagrid asked. “Take me where?”

“For a short stretch only. Not punishment, just precaution. If someone else is caught, then you’ll be let out with a full apology.”

“Not Azkaban?”

Hagrid was even more pale. 

No one answered that question as there was a quick rap on the door. Since Fudge and Hagrid did not look like they were going to be moving any time soon, Dumbledore opened the door. Dumbledore stood back and looked, if possible, more angry. 

Draco could understand. 

Lucius Malfoy strode into the hut, looking very out of place in his expensive black traveling cloak. The smile on his face was horrible. It meant he was greatly pleased. Nothing that made Lucius Malfoy _that_ happy was a good thing. 

Fang snarled. 

Lucky dog, Draco thought. 

“Already here, Fudge, I see. Good, good,” Lucius said, approval in his tone. 

“What’re you doin’ here?” Hagrid said, gaining a little color in his anger. “Get outta my house!”

“My dear man, please believe me when I tell you I have no pleasure at all being inside—did you call it a house?” Lucius sneered, grey eyes coldly taking in the one room. “I simply am here as the headmaster is here.”

Out of his pocket, Lucius drew out a roll of parchment, holding it out to Dumbledore.

“And you need me because?” Dumbledore asked, eyes blazing. 

“Dreadful thing, Dumbledore,” Lucius drawled lazily flapping the roll for Dumbledore to take. He finally took it. “The governors feel it’s time for you to step aside. This is an Order of Suspension.”

Dumbledore unrolled the parchment. His face remained blank. 

“You’ll find all twelve signatures there. I’m afraid we feel you’re losing your touch. How many attacks have there been? Oh, and then there as that dreadful case of loosing a student for four months only to have her return with brain damage. Terrible. At this rate, all the Muggleborns will be gone and there might be another student vanishing off into the past at any moment. That would simply be awful.”

Like Draco’s father actually felt this was awful. He was having a lot of trouble concealing his glee. 

“Oh, now see here, Lucius,” Fudge began, looking alarmed, “Dumbledore can’t be suspended. That’s the last thing we want.”

Lucius looked at Fudge as if he were a bug on his shoe. “The appointment— or suspension— of the headmaster is up to the school’s governors, not the Ministry. And Dumbledore has failed to stop these attacks, so…”

He let the reasoning hang in the air. 

“See here, Malfoy, if Dumbledore can’t stop them, who can?”

“That remains to be seen,” Lucius said, nasty smile on his face. “But as all twelve of us have voted, he’s out for the time being.” 

 “An’ how many did yeh have ter threaten an’ blackmail before they agreed, Malfoy, eh?” Hagrid asked, leaping to his feet.

“Dear, dear, you know, that temper of yours will lead you into trouble. I would advise you not shout at the Azkaban guards. They won’t like that.”

Hagrid balled his fists. “Yeh can’ take Dumbledore! Take him away and the Muggleborns don’t stand a chance! There’ll be killn’ next!”

“Calm yourself, Hagrid,” Dumbledore said, sounding rather calm, but still not appearing to be calm. “If the governors want my removal, I’ll go.”

“But…” Fudge sputtered.

“No!”

“I’ll go. However, you’ll find that I will only truly be gone when none here are loyal to me. You will also find that help will alway be given at Hogwarts to those who ask.”

For a moment, Dumbledore’s blue eyes landed on the corner where Harry and Draco stood. Draco got the creepy feeling Dumbledore knew they were there. He shivered. 

“Wonderful,” Lucius drawled. “Best be on our way.”

He turned on his heel and strode out. Fudge fiddled with his hat, then indicated Hagrid ought to exit before him. Hagrid cleared his throat and stared around the cabin. 

“If anyone wanted ter find out some stuff, all they’d have ter do would be to follow the spiders. Someone will need ter feed Fang.”

And with that, he walked out, leaving behind a rather confused looking Fudge. Dumbledore shrugged and indicated for Fudge to go. Without a backwards glance, Fudge left. Dumbledore glanced around the hut once more before exiting. The door banged shut. Fang began scratching at the door. Harry and Draco stood still till they were sure the adults were all gone.

“Well, that went wrong in a million different ways,” Harry said, tearing the Cloak off of them. 

Draco nodded in agreement. 

“We still do not know what happened last time! I mean, if the only reason it stopped last time was because Riddle had to shut it down, what will we do now?”

“I don’t know,” Draco said. “What did we really want to find out from Hagrid?”

Harry opened and shut his mouth a few times. “I have no idea. I…I was mostly worried Hagrid would think we thought he was guilty. But we know he’s innocent. What do you think he  meant about following the— oh! Oh. OH!”

Harry grabbed his hair and yanked, his eyes bright. He began pacing around the room.

“OH!”

“Harry! What did you realize?”

“Spiders! Spiders flee from her! Spiders…spider’s flee when a Basilisk is near! They don’t like Basilisks.” 

“But, your snake isn’t on the loose,” Draco pointed out. “She’s where she should be, correct?”

“Yeah, but…last time, she was on the loose! And Hagrid was raising a spider!”

“Okay.”

Draco had no clue where Harry was going with this. Then again, he had no idea why they had to see Hagrid in the first place. Draco was simply tired of inaction, so he followed wants of his best friend, the Insane-One-With-A-Death-Wish. 

“Follow the spiders!” Harry shouted, jumping up onto a chair and holding on to the back. 

Harry looked like a wild animal. 

Clearly, it was that time of year to be heading off to his death. 

“Follow the spiders! Can’t those big hairy ones…Akumikla?”

“Acromantula.”

“Yeah, can’t they talk?”

“I don’t know,” Draco replied, feeling irritated. “I don’t know anything about magical animals.”

That was a lie, but Hagrid had never taught them about Acromantulas. Odd, especially if he kept one as a pet. Draco was pretty sure they met all Hagrid’s other “pets.” 

Harry gripped the back of the chair, still standing on it and leaned forward a bit, his eyes moving as if he was reading a book. He stood up straight and grabbed his hair again. 

“They can! Follow the spiders!”

Harry leaped off the chair and ran for the door.

Okay, while he might joke about Harry being mental, Draco was pretty sure Harry was in fact insane at the moment. He wanted to go speak to a flesh eating spider. 

“HARRY! FREEZE!”

Harry froze before his hand reached the door knob.

“I am not going to follow any spiders. First off, do you see any spiders to follow?”

Harry paused and looked around. There were no spiders in the hut scurrying out. 

“Outside!” Harry shouted, thrusting one finger into the air before he flung the door open and vanished. 

Draco let out a noise of frustration. After making sure Fang stayed in the hut, Draco shut the door and found Harry standing in the garden, searching under wand light for spiders. He was stooped over and doing a grid search of the garden, looking under all the plants for spiders. Why Harry thought spiders always lived under plants and in the garden was beyond Draco. 

“Harry!” Draco hissed.

“The spider can tell us what happened last time!”

“Harry James Potter!”

Upon hearing his full name, Harry straightened up and faced Draco, looking confused. 

“We know who and what is doing this,” Draco reminded Harry. “It is the diary. Who has the diary more than likely again?”

“Ginny Weasley.”

“This means?”

“I shouldn’t try to follow the spiders?”

“Exactly.”

Harry’s wand dropped to his side and he looked lost at sea. “But I really want to. Why do I really want to follow the spiders?”

“Try this. Hagrid said to follow the bunnies.”

Upon hearing this, Harry shivered. “No thanks.”

“So, since we can’t talk to Hagrid, can’t assure him we know it’s not him and cannot find out exactly what happened fifty years ago, let’s go back to the castle, go to bed and tomorrow we will figure out how to steal the diary back.”

“Okay. This is the oddest feeling in the world,” Harry muttered. “I mean, it makes no sense why we wanted to talk to Hagrid, other than finding out what really happened…but we know it’s the diary. I doubt Hagrid would know how the diary is doing it.”

“Good point.”

“Do you think the diary can kill?”

“Like your snake? I hope not. However, I have a feeling if the diary wanted, it might hurt Ginny.”

Judging by Harry’s expression, he did not like this idea at all. 


	25. Stealing Glory

**Disclaimer: If you now it, I do not own it as it came from _Chamber of Secrets_ by JKR. **

* * *

By the next morning, the whole castle knew about the departure of Hagrid and Dumbledore. The next morning also began Operation Steal Diary from Ginny Weasley. 

Draco attempted to talk to her.

She ignored him. 

Harry sputtered at her.

She turned red and ran away.

Draco was stealthy and got her bag. 

The diary wasn’t in her bag. 

Harry snuck into the girl’s dormitory.

He was almost caught, but managed to escape. But there was no diary within the first year girl’s dormitory. 

After a two weeks of attempting to steal the diary off Ginny, both boys gave up. Either Ginny had hidden the diary very well, or she simply did not have it. 

Draco yanked at his hair. Harry joined in. 

“What are we going to do?” Harry worried one afternoon while they sat in a corner of the Common Room on their own. 

“I have no idea. We’ve tried everything we can think of,” Draco pointed out. “She doesn’t act too strange any more—”

“Other not looking at you,” Harry offered.

“— and she is always here— ”

“We’re all always here.”

“— So, either she doesn’t have it, or she’s hidden it somewhere we’ve yet to look. Like on her person.” 

The two boys gazed out over the room and fell into silence. 

“Do you want to tackle her and search her like they do on telly?” Harry asked, looking almost hopeful. 

Draco blinked at Harry several times. Harry launched into an explanation of some program called _Crimewatch_. Draco wasn’t sure how the program mostly about murder related to tackling Ginny and searching her pockets, but he let Harry talk.  

* * *

The only person in the whole castle who seemed to be enjoying the intense atmosphere of terror and suspicion was Theodore Nott. He strutted around the school as if he had been appointed King of the Castle. Draco was pretty sure he knew what Nott was pleased about, as last time around after both Hagrid and Dumbledore had been tossed out of the school, Draco had been pleased. 

And had strutted around with his nose in the air with a smug smile. 

This time— not so much. 

The only thing Draco was hoping for was a tidy end to the entire mess. He was still slogging his way through the time travel book Atlanta the First had suggested. He was sure the reason for the whole trip to Hagrid’s and Harry’s continue need to follow the spiders had something to do with Time herself. 

Draco, though, didn’t know why. 

Why did Time want them to follow the spiders? If indeed Hagrid’s hairy spider was living in the Forbidden Forest, what good would it do to speak to it? Last time, if Potter and Weasel needed information on what happened, it made sense to talk to the spider. As, by this time Granger was Petrified so the two idiots were up the river without a paddle. 

But, this time around, it wasn’t the snake. (If it was even the snake last time, as Draco did not actually _know_ what happened.) 

“I’ve never seen any spiders fleeing,” Harry said one afternoon while he and Draco were in Herbology. He poked at his dead looking plant they were supposed to be pruning. Draco hadn’t actually caught the name of the plant, his mind a million years from what he was doing on autopilot with his hands. 

“Nor I.”

“But, I still really want to follow the spiders,” Harry hissed, looking alarmed. 

Draco frowned, then looked up to see what had cause Harry’s alarm. Approaching the table Harry and Draco were working at were Hannah Abbot and Ernie MacMillian. Abbot sent MacMillian a look as she set her plant down across from Harry. MacMillion settled in across from Draco, oddly not staring in the creepy way he’d done before. 

“Hi, Harry. Draco,” she greeted, a sunny smile painting her face. She elbowed MacMillion in the ribs. 

“Oh, er, I just wanted to say, Harry, that I’m sorry I ever suspected you. I know you’d never attack Hermione Granger and I apologize for all the stuff I was saying about you. We’re all in the same boat now, eh?”

Harry blinked.

MacMillion held out a pudgy hand for Harry to shake. Harry shook it.

“So, who do you think it is? That Nott character is pretty cheery since this last attack,” MacMillion said, breaking dead twigs off his plant. “He is in Slytherin. He could be the Heir of Slytherin.”

“Clever,” Draco grumbled, angrily snapping twigs off his plant.

“I don’t think so,” Harry offered. “I doubt it is actually the Heir of Slytherin.”

Draco paused, wondering what Harry was doing. Harry was up to something. He was wearing his I-Am-Going-to-do-Something-Unexpected-That-Will-Cause-Draco-to-go-Bald-Before-His-Time face. 

“Who do you think it is?” Abbot asked, her eyes round.

“Voldemort.”

Abbot knocked her plant over with her jerk of surprise. MacMillion sputtered, throwing twigs and dead leaves in Draco’s face. It was clear the class was eavesdropping on them, as there were several similar reactions at Harry’s announcement. Harry, meanwhile, appeared not to notice and continued pruning his plant wearing a rather pleased expression. 

“Makes sense. Voldemort could speak to snakes. He was in Slytherin. He was also known to boast about the fact he was the last living relative of Salazar Slytherin,” Harry went on, his voice getting louder. 

Where was the teacher?

“How do you know?” Abbot whispered.

Harry glanced up. “I researched Voldemort. I also know for a fact, Salazar Slytherin did not leave a monster in our school to kill Muggleborns. The whole legend of the Chamber of Secrets is stupid.” 

Draco stopped working and stared at Harry. Harry continued to prune his plant, but there was twitch at the corner of his mouth. He was working really hard not to grin. After a few more snips at his plant, he put a neutral expression on his face and looked up at Abbot. 

“Salazar Slytherin was a Muggleborn himself,” Harry announced.

There was a collective intake of breath from the whole green house.

“Harry, how on Earth do you know that?” Draco demanded. 

“I read it in a book,” Harry replied airily, going back to pruning his plant. “That was why he was so suspicious of Muggles. He grew up in a village where he was the only wizard. The Muggles were mean to him because he did strange things. They thought he was a freak. It wasn’t until he met Gryffindor when he was a teenager did he realize there was nothing wrong with him.”

“What book did you read this in?” someone demanded. 

Harry smiled that damn mischievous smile. “ _The Journal of Salazar Slytherin_.”

Draco kicked Harry. Harry failed to notice. 

“Once I finish it, I’ll return it to the library,” Harry offered. “Then anyone can read it for themselves.” 

Silence blanketed the classroom. Harry stopped pruning and set his scissors down, staring at his half dead plant with a slight frown on his face. 

“What is going on in here? Why is it so quiet?” Professor Sprout demanded, entering the greenhouse from where ever she had been. 

Everyone got back to work. 

* * *

“I translated the journal into English,” Harry announced to Draco. 

They were sequestered on Draco’s bed, curtains shut and every silence and anti-eavesdropping spell Draco could think of cast on the bed. 

“When?”

“After Hermione was Petrified. You were in a sort of daze, so I snuck down there, grabbed the one he stated he was a Muggleborn and used this awesome spell I found when I was doing my Charms essay from before Easter.”

Harry reached into his book bag and pulled out a Charms book. He handed it to Draco, instructing him to open to page forty-seven. Draco did and saw a spell he’d never heard of. He flipped a few more pages and realized he had heard of most of them, but there quite a few he had never seen before. 

“It’s not hard. Actually, really simple to perform. It works like translation program or something,” Harry said, sounding exciting. “All you do is cast it, tell it what language you want it in, and it translates it into whatever form you wanted. I picked book.”

Harry pulled another book out. Draco took it and examined it carefully. It looked like a book— brand new, bound in green leather, and inlayed with sliver lettering. 

“This says it was Translated by T.R. DeVinette,” Draco said, eyes reading the name in silver lettering on the cover. 

“Of course. It’s his spell. Any thing you translate will say it was translated by him,” Harry said as if Draco was stupid. 

Draco got a strange feeling, but couldn’t exactly place it. He felt that he knew that name. It felt familiar and was on the tip of his tongue. 

“It took a few days to translate it fully, but I’ve already read it in Parseltounge, so I know what it says and didn’t mind the wait. I was waiting for a the perfect moment to let it be known I had the book and today when Ernie and Hannah came over and began talking, it felt right.”

Draco flipped the book open and found a forward written by T.R. DeVinette, stating the original was a long lost journal discovered by an unnamed source. It stated the journal was was originally written in Parseltounge. T.R. DeVinette goes on to state he hopes the fact Slytherin wasn’t a Muggleborn hater will allow Parseltounges to be able to come out of the dark and the Dark reputation around the House of Slytherin lift. 

That was something Draco could agree with. Not all Slytherins were evil, yet somehow the house had wound up being viewed by outsiders as a House of Evil-Doers. 

“How did DeVinette write a forward?”

“Oh, we wrote that together,” Harry replied. “I guess the spell sends him a notice when you use it. He wrote me and we wrote that together, but I didn’t want my name on it.”

“Did you tell him who you were?”

“No. I used the fake name I used with Riddle,” Harry said, handing Draco a letter. It was written on strange looking paper. Written, actually, wasn’t the right word. 

“What is this?”

“I think he used a typewriter,” Harry offered.  “Or a computer, maybe?”

Draco stared at the odd lettering and traced his finger over it. It didn’t feel like print he was used to. 

“Huh,” Draco said. “How come you decided to trust his spell with the journal?”

“Oh, the he doesn’t see what is being translated,” Harry said. “Did you read the letter? I mean, I thought it was just a spell, so I used it. I didn’t know it alerted him it was used. I guess he gets paid or something, but he didn’t make me pay him. He was interested in the title, and asked me what it was about. Since I want it to be public knowledge, I wrote him back and told him. Instead of paying, he just wanted to help me write a forward. He offered to translate the rest of the journals after I’m done with school. Personally, not using the spell.”

Draco frowned, reading the letter carefully. He turned the page and found the second one. The tone changed from formal, asking for payment and such, to excited. 

“Did you tell him where you found it?”

“Er… I said I found it in a trunk of old things my parents left behind.”

Draco snorted.

“I kind of told him my story, but left out the whole Harry Potter aspect, seeing as he thinks I’m just some kid named Dan. It’s kind of nice not being Harry Potter. He thinks I’m just a normal kid.” 

Draco looked back at the Charms book open in his lap. Sure enough, in tiny print under the spell description it stated once you used the spell, you’d be issued a bill from T.R. DeVinette. It was the same for several of the spells in the book Harry had handed him before the translated journal. Draco set the letters aside and began reading further in the Charms book. 

There were copy written spells? Huh. It made sense, as Draco knew Spellsmiths made a pretty good living. Draco had assumed they were only paid to invent and after invention, the spell was free to public domain. Not the case, it seemed. 

“Harry…I don’t know what to say.”

Harry grinned. “I think this will, well, help calm the whole thing down. Voldemort thrives of fear, right? Creating it, nurturing it, right?”

Draco nodded his head. “So, in putting out there that Slytherin was actually a Muggleborn, will make them wonder why he’s attacking them?”

“It will tell them Medusa’s real purpose and how understandable that Slytherin was fearful of Muggles. And when taken in historical context, it totally makes sense!”

Harry looked so pleased with himself, Draco had no idea what to say. Or it could be just because he was in shock. 

* * *

Harry snuck out the following night. The next morning, Madam Pince found a book on her desk, a note typed up and signed by a T.R. DeVinette requesting the book be added to the library. By the time breakfast started, the waiting list for the book was over a year long. 


	26. She Tried to Speak

**Disclaimer: If you know it, it is from _Chamber of Secrets_ by JKR and I do not own that.**

* * *

Something was wrong. 

Okay, that was an understatement. 

Ginny had been missing more and more chunks of time since she’d gotten Tom back. There were more times during the day and night she’d black out and wake up somewhere she ought not to be, which was pretty much anywhere outside of the Gryffindor Tower when she wasn’t in class or the Great Hall for meals. 

Ginny was beginning to suspect Tom was behind all the attacks on her fellow students. Somehow Tom was attacking people. She had no clue how it was happening, but she was quite sure as the spring approached and faded into summertime it was in fact her doing the attacking. 

The red paint was the biggest tip off. 

The morning she woke up with red paint down her front. It stained her hands, got under her fingernails and refused to wash away. There was a message from the Heir of Slytherin written in the same shade of red and Ginny knew she had written it. 

She did not remember writing it. 

She had no idea how it had happened so she asked Tom about it.

Tom asked her about Draco.

She, of course, slammed the diary shut and shoved it into her pocket. 

“What did it say?” Cassandra Johnson whispered to another first year at breakfast the morning after the message appeared. 

“It said the time is nearing,” the girl answered. “What does that meant?”

The two exchanged looks as Ginny shuddered. She put her hand into her pocket, where the diary rested, being all innocent and book-like. She could not feel anything sinister about the diary, but she knew.

She debated with herself all day, but in the end, decided to cease writing to Tom. 

But, it did not matter. She felt like he had somehow wound his fingers around her heart and soul and by squeezing was able to move her, make her do things she would never do other wise. The days trickled by and she became more scared, more weary of what was coming. Her whole life was becoming one fuzzy blur of colors and fading voices. 

“Why won’t they cancel exams?” Cassandra asked one day as exams were nearing.

Where had the time gone? School was almost over.

“I mean, all this danger and the attacks!” 

Ginny stood up and hurried out of the Great Hall. Tom had used to help her with her homework. She had been floundering since she had stopped writing to Tom. She felt like she did not know anything any longer. The professors were noticing the change in her school work and becoming suspicious. Professor McGonagall had asked Ginny on several occasions if she needed to speak to someone.

Ginny fled. 

That was all Ginny did these days. She ran away when Draco appeared looking concerned. She skedaddled when Harry attempted to speak to her and wound up sputtering. She hid each time she saw Percy. She turned and walked the other direction when she would run across Fred and George. She found herself trying to escape from Oliver Wood one afternoon when he had trapped her in a corner and demanded to know why she was avoiding Percy. 

She had no idea how she had managed to get away from Wood. He was somewhat frightening when he was upset. 

“You know,” a dreamy voice said from behind Ginny as she scurried across the Entrance Hall, once again heading for the hills in the face of the truth she feared to really admit deep down. “You ought to talk to those who you were warned off from. Now that you’re becoming free.”

Ginny spun around to find Luna behind her. She stared at the girl, who stared right back with her huge, silvery eyes. 

“I haven’t seen you around,” Luna went on, glancing off at something above Ginny’s head. “I think you have a voice in your heart that won’t let go.”

Ginny opened and closed her mouth a few times.

“He has all the clues,” Luna went on, seemingly not bothered by Ginny channeling a fish. “All he needs to do is put them together. They will soon fit together. Talk to him.”

“Who?” Ginny whispered.

Luna smiled. “Draco Malfoy, of course.”

Luna turned and skipped off, leaving Ginny behind, channeling a fish. 

* * *

Exams were three days away. Draco pushed the eggs around on his plate while Harry did something similar. The students were all still chattering about the information in the book Harry had left in the library. The professors had no idea what to do, but Professor Flitwick had somehow procured a few more copies of the book and the waiting list was now down to six months. 

“I have an announcement. Good news!” Professor McGongall called out. 

Instead of silence, the hall erupted with noise. 

“Dumbledore’s coming back?”

“Book two is coming out?”

Draco looked at Harry and mouthed _Book Two_. Harry shrugged. 

“The Heir of Slytherin has been caught?”

“Quidditch matches are back on?!” Wood shouted rather loudly, somehow getting himself heard above the crowd, as there was a lull in the noise while Wood stared at McGonagall, who rolled her eyes deeply.

Wood deflated. 

Professor McGonagall waited for the noise to die down. When it was finally quiet, she said, “Professor Sprout has informed me that the Mandrakes are ready for cutting at last. Tonight, we will be able to revive those people who have been Petrified. I do hope one, if not all, of them will be able to tell us who attacked them.”

There was an explosion of cheering. The only people not cheering were Harry, Draco and Ginny Weasley. (Well, and Nott.) Draco and Harry looked at Ginny, who looked downright miserable. 

“Hey, Ginny?” Draco tried. 

Usually, she did not look this miserable. Since Atlanta had returned in February, she had been cold and aloof. The past few weeks, though, she had been going between cold and aloof, and looking miserable and panicky. 

Ginny’s head snapped up. When she did not glare or stalk off, Draco quickly stood and moved to sit next her. He sat down, wearing a concerned look. Harry elbowed his way in across from her and arranged his face in a similar manner. Ginny looked between the two boys, eyes darting between them, clearly terrified.

“It’s going to be fine. Just tell us, please,” Draco begged, attempting to tell her with his eyes they already knew what the problem was and for it to end, all she had to do was hand the diary over. Or who had the diary. They still did not have concrete proof Ginny had the diary. Or had had it in the first place. 

Ginny began rocking back and forth, looking very similar to Dobby when he was teetering on the edge of revealing something he ought not to. Harry clearly recognized the look, judging by his facial expression. 

“I— I— I have to tell you something,” Ginny said, carefully not looking at Harry and keeping her gaze on Draco’s shoulder. She stared hard at his shoulder as if that would make her finally spill her dirty little secret. 

“What?” Harry asked softly, leaning across the table towards her. 

Ginny opened and closed her mouth a few times, looking like a fish. 

“It’s fine, you can tell us,” Draco coaxed. He moved his hand a few times towards her before finally deciding to place it on her shoulder. He hoped it looked and felt comforting. He felt strange, like he was attempting to hold her in place. 

It felt downright awkward to be touching Ginny. 

The hand seemed to help, though. She stopped rocking. Ginny drew a deep breath and at the exact moment she opened her mouth, Prefect Percy Weasley appeared behind her, looking exhausted. 

“If you’ve finished eating, I’ll take that seat. I’m starving and I’ve only just come off duty,” he pompously announced.

Ginny leaped out from under Draco’s hand, looking like she had gotten shocked. She gave Prefect Weasley a frightened look and scampered off. Prefect Weasley failed to noticed and sat down, grabbing a mug from the center of the table and filling it with coffee.

“Percy!” Harry shouted, slamming his fist on the table. Percy jolted and blinked owlishly at Harry. “She was just about to tell us something important!”

Prefect Weasley choked. He cleared his throat, turned red and asked, “What sort of thing?”

“We don’t know,” Draco cooly said. “She didn’t get that far.”

“Ah, well, I bet it’s nothing.”

“It was something!” Harry shouted.

“Calm down, Harry,” Prefect Weasley chided, raising the mug to his mouth and taking a gulp. “It’s really…she just…well, she spotted me doing something and I asked her not to mention it to anyone. It’s my personal business. So, stay out of it.”

Prefect Weasley looked rather uncomfortable.

“PERCE!”

Draco suddenly watched Harry fly a few feet to the left and vanish under the table. Oliver Wood sat down across from Prefect Weasley and looked thrilled.

“Did you hear?”

“What, Oliver?”

“The Mandrakes are almost done! I’m going to try to see if we can squeeze in the games we missed!” Oliver excited announced. 

“Percy, what did Ginny catch you doing?” Draco demanded as Harry got to his feet, looking disgruntled. 

“Nothing worth mentioning,” Percy stiffed, his ears turning bright red. 

“What?” Oliver asked, looking between Percy and Draco. 

Draco stared at Percy, willing him to tell, but Percy grabbed a roll and began buttering it, while Oliver Wood loudly announced he was going to see McGonagall, grabbed Harry and sprinted out of the room. 

Draco felt rather bewildered.

* * *

“I think Oliver has lost his mind,” Harry grumbled later that afternoon. “Look at my arm!”

Harry held up his arm, which had bruises on it that were clearly from where Wood had toted him out of the Great Hall that morning. 

“Does it hurt?”

“No. It’s just annoying. What the hell was wrong with those two this morning?” Harry asked. “I’ve asked Oliver several times about a room on the second floor near the girl’s loo, but he always changes the subject when I ask! Just like he did with you. I asked him this morning and he began talking about daisies!”

Draco frowned. 

“Do you think they have anything to do with the whole thing? I mean, maybe it’s not the diary,” Harry offered.

“It’s the diary,” Draco reminded him. 

“History of Magic is so boring,” Harry whined. 

“Shouldn’t the bell ring soon?” Draco asked, glancing at the clock.

The bell never rung. Instead, there was a loud, magically magnified announcement by Professor McGonagall.

“ _All students to return to their House dormitories at once. All teachers return to the staffroom. Immediately, please_.” 

Harry stared at Draco with big eyes. “Another attack?”

“I don’t know,” Draco said, pulling Harry closer to him in the chaos that broke out after McGonagall’s announcement. 

“What are you doing?” Harry asked. “We’re to go back to our dormitories.”

Draco wasn’t sure what he was doing. Potter had done something last time around that wound up destroying the diary. If Draco was right, Ginny Weasley had been taken into the Chamber, if events were going to play out as they had last time. 

And it was highly likely the diary was with her, waiting for a slightly crazy boy with a hero complex to destroy it. 

Hermione had said that maybe Ginny (or at that point whoever) getting the diary was a fixed point in time due to what that event would lead up to. This was the event. Draco could feel it in his bones. 

He had no idea what to do though. 

What would Potter do? 

“Let’s go to the staff room,” Draco decided. 

“Why?”

“It’s the only way we’ll know what is going on,” Draco tried. Harry nodded, so Draco pressed on. “They won’t tell us the details. I bet, if there has been another attack, they’ll send us home. They were really freaked out when the Heir left that message a few weeks ago.”

Since Harry wasn’t one to argue with rule breaking, Draco knew he didn’t need a concrete reason to sneak off and hide in the staff room. Harry would merrily go along with Draco’s half-brain idea. There was a reason Draco nicknamed his best friend The Insane One.

Once the boys were in the staffroom, Harry went straight to a wardrobe that was full of cloaks. He opened the door and indicated silently for Draco to get in. Draco got in, followed by Harry. They hid themselves, but left the door open a bit so they could see out. Draco pressed his eye to the opening, while Harry did the same from somewhere near Draco’s knees. All around them they could hear the rumble of hundreds of people moving through the castle. 

The staffroom door banged open, scaring Draco so much he almost fell forward. Only the fact Harry was sitting on his feet prevented him from falling forward too far. Judging by the noise in the room before them, the teachers had arrived. The teachers all settled before the wardrobe. Some looked puzzled, while some looked frightened. 

“It has happened,” came McGongall’s voice. She was standing out of view from the wardrobe for the boys, but she voice betrayed her worry. “A student has been taken by the monster. Right into the Chamber itself.”

Draco felt something crawl up his spine. He hoped it was just a feeling and not a spider or something. 

There were a few assorted noises from the teachers. 

“How can you be sure?” Snape asked, gripping a chair hard enough to make his pale knuckles whiter than they already were. 

“The Heir of Slytherin wrote another message. Right under the last one. It read: _Her skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever_.’”

Flitwick burst into tears.

“Who is it?”

“Ginny Weasley.”

Harry collapsed backwards into Draco. The noise of the two boys crashing into the back of the wardrobe was covered by the hubbub all the professors made at the announcement. 

“We shall send the students home tomorrow,” McGonagall went on, her voice rising above the others. “This is the end of Hogwarts. Dumbledore always said…”

The staffroom door banged open again. For one wild moment, Draco hoped it was Dumbledore, but he knew Time was not _that_ kind.

“Sorry. Dozed off. What have I missed?”

Erg. Lockhart. 

Draco felt Harry groan from where he was sitting on Draco’s feet and pressed against his legs. From Draco’s current position, he could no longer see out of the wardrobe. 

“Just the man,” Snape said. “The very man we need. A girl has been taken by the monster, Lockhart. Taken into the Chamber of Secrets. Your moment has come at last.”

Draco heard Lockhart sputtering. 

“That’s right, Gilderoy,” chirped Sprout. “Weren’t you saying just last night you’ve known all along where the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets is located?”

“I, well…I…”

“Yes, didn’t you tell me you were sure what was inside?” Flitwick pipped up with.

“Did I?”

“I remember you saying you were sorry you hadn’t had a chance to crack the monster before Hagrid was arrested,” Snape added. “Didn’t you say the whole affair had been bungled?”

“I— I— misunderstood…”

“We’ll leave it to you, Gilderoy,” McGonagall said, clearly having too much fun. “Tonight will be an excellent time to do it. We’ll make sure everyone is out of your way. You’ll be able to tackle the monster all by yourself.”

“Great. Lovely. I’ll be in my office. Getting ready.”

The door slammed.

“Right. That’s got him out from under our feet. The Heads of Houses should go and inform their students what has happened. Tell them the Hogwarts Express will take them home first thing in the morning. The rest will make sure there are no students out of the dormitories. Look out for Mr Potter and Mr Malfoy,” she announced. “Potter’s got a hero complex. It would be just like him to attempt to save Miss Weasley and drag Mr Malfoy along for the ride.”

Draco and Harry exchanged looks as all the teachers filed out of the room and the door slammed. Draco nudged Harry to get up off his feet. Harry scrambled forward and pushed the door open. He looked around for a moment, then scampered out. 

“I see you’ve made a reputation for yourself in a year, Harry Potter,” Draco joked. “So, Mr. Hero, what do you say we go play hero and save Ginny from the diary?”

“You’re sure it’s the diary?”

“Yes. How else would she have gotten down there? Tom Riddle is whom?”

“Voldemort.”

“Who can speak to snakes?”

“Me.”

“Besides you, oh, Witty One.”

“Voldemort.”

“We know your snake spoke to someone before in the Chamber. Remember?”

“Oh…OH! Riddle is using the diary to…what, possess Ginny? That’s how she got down there and spoke to Medusa!”

“Yes. That sound about right. It can make you time travel, possess you and show you memories. Oh, write at you and suck your own ink into itself. It’s magical!”

Harry glared. Draco shrugged.

“So, let’s go. You can play hero, and I’ll…I don’t know. I’ll stay here.”

“No way, Jose,” Harry announced, stomping his foot on the ground. “You’re coming and Lockhart is coming.”

Draco stared at Harry in utter confusion. “Why on Earth did you call me Jose?”

Harry rolled his eyes, throwing his hands in the air. 

“Fine. I’m Jose. Now, why do we need Lockhart?”

The mischievous smile. “We need a professor. Why not take one who might want to take credit for our story?”

Draco felt confused. He cocked his head to the side and stared at his insane friend. 

“You haven’t figured it out yet? Oh, Draco. Lockhart takes credit for other people’s work. He has to, or he simply makes it up. But, the best fiction is born out of truth, things you know happened and are familiar with. So, we go to Lockhart, tell him we know where the entrance is and take him there. We assure him he can have our story and we’ll go off and do whatever.”

“Why do we need him?”

“To get there. You heard the teachers. They are looking for me. If we go to Lockhart, they won’t bother me, as they know Lockhart is an idiot. Don’t argue with me. I’ve got that feeling again. You didn’t let me follow the spiders.”

Harry pouted. 

“Seriously?”

“Yes.”

“Fine. But, if you call me Jose again, I’ll find a bunny.” 

Harry blanched. 


	27. When Harry Met Marv

**Disclaimer: If you know it, I do not own it. If you really know it, it is out of _Chamber of Secrets_ by JKR.**

* * *

There were times, not very often, Draco desperately missed being a bystander in Harry Potter’s life. While he cherished his friendship with the raven haired, green eyed menace to society, sometimes he wished Harry was a little more boring. Draco ought to have seen the ceiling of the tunnel collapsing coming a mile away. It was something that was bound to happen in a time crunch and cause Harry to go galavanting off into danger alone. 

So, now faced with a wall of rubble, Draco sighed deeply. He would rather be tucked away in the Slytherin Common Room, talking to himself about all the wonderful things the Heir of Slytherin had in store for the whole school now that he was taking on blood-traitors. Crabbe and Goyle would be laughing like they weren’t mindless gnomes, even though they were and they never did respond or do much more than make that stupid guffawing noise they thought was laughter. (Hence the talking to himself.)

“Do you live here?” Lockhart asked.

“For the millionth time, no,” Draco muttered. “Do we need to start over again?”

“Start over what?” Lockhart asked.

“Okay. We’ll start over. Again. First, because you’re a total idiot, you broke your own wand getting down here. Second, you tried to erase our memories and wound up blasting yourself when your broken wand backfired. Third, I don’t even know why we brought you in the first place except for comic relief, because honestly, last year we took on a professor possessed by Voldemort and we took him on by ourselves. Clearly, you are here for comic relief.”

There was no way Harry seriously thought it was a good idea to bring Lockhart for the reasons he’d given earlier. The way Lockhart behaved when they’d cornered him in his office (he was fleeing) had laid out the whole comic relief aspect to Draco rather clearly. 

“Comic relief, you say? I think I might be good at that,” Lockhart commented mildly. “Have you seen these lurid robes? Who wears baby blue?”

“You do. Often,” Draco snorted. “Help me shift these rocks.”

“Oh? Are we redecorating?”

Draco glared at the idiot on the ground next to him. Draco wanted to smash him over the head with a rock, but he figure that might not be the best idea he ever had. Plus, Lockhart was comic relief. What else was Draco going to do till Harry returned? Might as well get a good laugh. 

“Yes, actually. I want to put a window right here,” Draco announced, pointing to the tiny hole that was already there. 

“A window? Lovely!” 

Lockhart leapt to his feet and began to carefully move rocks away, clearing a spot for Harry (and hopefully Ginny) to come through. Working together, Draco and Lockhart were able to shift enough of the rock to make a sizable gap that would definitely fit Harry and Ginny. 

“Not a very good view out this window,” Lockhart commented. “I say, you ought to get a new house.”

“I totally agree with you,” Draco said. “Why don’t you sit? We need to wait for Harry.”

“Harry?” Lockhart asked. “Will he be able to talk you into a new home?”

“Yes. He will. He told me to wait till he found a new home.”

Draco wasn’t sure what Lockhart’s obsession with home was, but he was going to roll with it. Draco got tired of waiting and staring out the hole, so he sat down opposite Lockhart, who was staring around the place with a dreamy expression on his face. He oddly reminded Draco a bit of Luna Lovegood. 

“Do you live here?” Lockhart asked. 

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“Very odd place,” Lockhart went on. 

“Did you know Time has a really sick sense of humor?” Draco asked. “It’s tricky, complicated and it’s stubborn. You see, I stole the diary. Okay, I didn’t steal it. Atlanta asked for it nicely. Do you know what the diary did to her? It got rid of her. Yeah, it sent her to 1943 where her whole memory was rewritten by some crazy sixteen-year-old. She came back as a Slytherin. And she thinks she’s British and her name is Calliope Riddle! And, since her brain is shot, she’s in St. Mungo’s till she remembers who Atlanta is, but guess what? Guess who the insane, psycho who rewrote her mind happened to be? Guess?”

“I don’t know. Napoleon?”

“Who?” Draco asked. 

“I think he was French.”

“Great. It was Voldemort, not Napalmlian.”

“Is that French?”

Draco waved a hand at the man. “Who cares! So this blasted diary, that I wanted to keep out of the school and keep from doing it has been doing all year— well, I thought it was GONE when Atlanta got taken away to be tortured into Calliope Riddle— and what kind of name is that by the way? Who named her?”

“Her mother?”

“No. Her mother did not name her that.”

“Her brother?”

Draco chose to ignore Lockhart and rant. “Anyways, I thought the diary was gone! Lost in time! Guess what? TIME made sure it was still here and fell into the hands of Ginny Weasley! Just like it did the first time! And did you know what I found out!”

“You shouldn’t keep a diary. You’re a boy!”

“No! I found out that fixed points will FIX themselves. If you mess it up, it’ll just go back to what it was before! I didn’t even need that stupid book! I don’t know what the deal with this damn diary, but it was hell bent on being a pain. I’m not sure how it managed to Petrify people as the snake is Harry’s best friend.”

“You’re rather angry for a child.”

“I’m not a child,” Draco muttered, face falling into his dirty hands. 

“No, you’re too tall,” Lockhart offered cheerily. He began to hum a tuneless tune to himself. 

Draco kept his face in his hands and decided not to move till Harry showed up. 

* * *

“I hate you.”

Harry was standing in the Chamber’s main room staring at a fuzzy version of a teenage boy  named Tom Riddle. He was tall, black-haired and casually leaning against a pillar, simply watching Harry stand over Ginny’s pale, still body. She was white as marble and barely breathing. Instinctively, Harry knew this strangely blurry around the edges Tom Riddle was to blame. 

“Excuse me?” the boy said, his handsome face knitting in confusion. He tossed a curl out of his eyes. “You do not know me.”

“Oh, I know you enough, you bastard,” Harry spat out. 

He stared at the diary, which was lying near Ginny’s hands. Keeping his hand fisted around his wand, Harry picked up this dairy. It was the same diary Atlanta had gotten off Ginny in August. The same diary that sucked Atlanta into 1943, the same diary Draco had managed to get on Valentine’s Day, the same diary that was stolen a few days later. The same nondescript book that had shown Harry the memory of Tom Riddle framing Hagrid. 

Harry wished he knew some curses that could send the diary to hell. 

“I hate you!” Harry roared again, flinging the diary at the blurry boy.

The diary smacked the thing in the face. 

Crap. He was solid.

“What is your issue?” the boy asked, pushing himself off the pillar. “Who are you?”

“Who do you think?”

“Oh, I think…”

The boy took a few more steps forward, using a wand to push Harry’s hair to the side.

“Ah, yes. The boy with the toadstool eyes and lighting bolt scar,” he said, reciting lines from that horrific Valentine that had been sent to Harry. “Harry Potter.”

Chills ran down Harry’s spine as the boy breathed his name just as Voldemort had done the previous year. 

Tom Riddle allowed Harry’s fringe to drop and straightened up. He was taller than Harry by a long shot. Harry, though, had a lot of anger and rage. Riddle didn’t seem very upset, even after Harry clocked him with the diary. 

“How are you standing here holding a wand? You’re a memory, preserved in a diary,” Harry announced. 

Riddle looked interested. “How do you know that?”

“I’m clever.”

Riddle cocked his head to the side, studying Harry in a new light. He put his index finger up to his mouth and tapped a few times before asking, “Where is she?”

“Who? Ginny? She’s right there.”

“Calliope. Where is my sister?” the tall boy asked, narrowing his eyes in anger. He leaned over and stuck his long nose into Harry’s face. “Tell me where my sister is. Ginny said she was missing, but returned.”

“She was. She was sent back,” Harry announced, planting his feet and staring up into the dark depths of Riddle’s eyes. Harry scanned Riddle further, realizing this Riddle looked different from the Riddle he’d seen in the memory. This Riddle looked like the arrogant, handsome boy from the yearbook. Harry had thought it was strange the memory Riddle didn’t match the yearbook Riddle and had secretly hoped they were two different Tom Riddles in the world. Now, he wasn’t so sure, since this Riddle looked a great deal like Yearbook Riddle.

 What had the boy done to himself to make his physical features change so drastically? 

“She was stolen from me,” Riddle sneered, curling his lip. “She is mine.”

“She doesn’t belong to you,” Harry snapped. “How are you Petrifying people?”

Riddle straighten and put his hands behind his back. A smug look appeared on his face. He slowly walked around Harry, circling him. Harry felt like he was a show horse, being appraised for auction. But, he’d put up with it in order to get more information.

“It was difficult. It seems the snake did not want to listen to the Heir of Slytherin. I’m not an idiot, though. I had Ginny pull some of my magic into her and used the diary on the Mudbloods I came across.”

Harry clenched his fists. 

“I charmed the diary with much more than just myself. I charmed it with memories of what I had done. Using the memories of the snake I had, I created a spell to duplicate the snake’s work. Thus, I was able to use those to attack Mudbloods. But, I don’t care about that any longer. No, no, for much longer I wanted to meet you.”

“Me?” Harry asked. “Oh, yeah.”

“What?”

“I know who you are, who you become. We put it together,” Harry informed him. 

Riddle did not respond. He glanced at Ginny, taking a deep breath and smiling. His smile did nothing for his face. In fact, it made his handsome face rather ugly. 

“Ginny hasn't got long, Lionheart. She spilled her open heart to an invisible stranger. I took her soul, her fears and hopes and used them to make myself solid. Little did she know what she was doing, stupid girl. But, I was so charming, so nice. She could not help herself. _No one’s ever understood me like you, Tom…I’m so glad I’ve got this diary to confine in…it’s like having a friend I can carry around in my pocket…”_

Riddle laughed a high, cold laugh that failed to suit him. It sent a shock wave through Harry, as it was so much like the laugh of Snake Faced Voldemort, even though the pair sounded nothing alike at the moment. Riddle sounded like a normal human being. Snake Face Vapor Thing sounded, well, evil for lack of a better word. 

“I’ve always been able to charm people when I wanted. I did it to Ginny. I did it to Calliope. I took Calliope’s magic, power and blood. Ginny…I took her soul. A diet of deepest fears, darkest secrets, worries and hopes and dreams. It took no time at all, with her only friend missing and the love of her life ignoring her existence. Before long, I was strong enough and fed Miss Weasley my own secrets. I poured my soul back into her. Charmed her into opening up this Chamber.”

Harry’s mouth went dry. He looked down at Ginny again. He could almost see the life draining out of her and into Riddle. 

“It was difficult after I found you’d managed to charm my snake. You’re not even related to Slytherin— directly at least, but the snake will only listen to you,” Riddle sneered. 

Harry set his jaw. 

“So, tell me, Harry Potter, how did you manage to get down here, charm my snake— my birthright— and how did you, as a one-year-old baby manage to defeat me?”

Finally. What Riddle really wanted to know. 

An odd red gleam showed in Riddle’s eyes as he leaned forward, as if he wanted to be able to drink the information out of Harry. 

“How did you escape with only that scar, while Lord Voldemort’s powers were destroyed?”

“Like I’d tell you,” Harry flippantly announced with a slight eye roll. 

Riddle quirked a dark eyebrow in an expression that made Harry’s chest hurt. It was an expression Draco made on a daily basis. 

“I have a theory,” Riddle suddenly offered.

“Don’t tell me. Bunnies?”

“Excuse me?”

“A dancing demon? That’d be funny.”

“I am Lord Voldemort.”

“Ah, wizard then. Where the hell did you even come up with that name?”

Riddle curled his upper lip, but looked intrigued. He pulled the wand out he had (Ginny’s) and began to trace through the air. He wrote his name out in shimmering orange letters:

TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE

Ah, so that was what the “M” stood for. Marvolo. Harry kind of liked that. Marv for short. 

Riddle cleared his throat. Harry swallowed his inappropriate laugh. This was not a time for jokes and laughing. 

Making sure Harry was paying attention, Riddle waved his wand and the letters now read:

I AM LORD VOLDEMORT

Harry was so calling him Marv from now on. 

“I was already using the name at Hogwarts with only my most intimate friends, of course,” Riddle offered. “Calliope and I couldn’t go around using my filthy Muggle father’s name. I, in whose veins runs the blood of Salazar Slytherin himself, through my mother’s side? Who has Black blood running through my veins through my connection to my sister? No, there was no way we would be saddled with a common, foul Muggle name. I would not keep the name of the loathsome muggle who left my mother simply because she was a witch. I fashioned myself a new name, a name I knew wizards everywhere would one day fear to speak when I became the greatest sorcerer in the world!” 

Riddle sure did like to monologue. He was like a villain in those Disney movies. Monologuing instead of fighting. Harry studied his fingernails, making it clear he was bored stiff. 

At least Harry and Marv had a thing. Marv monologued and Harry made bad and inappropriate jokes. Harry held in a giggle when he remembered their exchange last year. He had a vague urge to yell, _“Vatican cameos!”_

He shook it off. 

Head in the game, Potter, Harry told himself. 

“You’re not,” Harry said softly. 

“Not what?”

“All that great,” Harry said, lowering his hand. He kept himself steady. He heaved a great sigh. “Sorry to disappoint you, but the greatest wizard in the world happens to be Albus Dumbledore. Everyone says so. Even when you were strong, you stayed away from Dumbledore. You were, dare I say it, scared?”

Riddle stared at Harry with a blank look on his face. 

“How old are you?”

“Twelve.”

“Are you sure?”

“Uh, yeah.”

Riddle went looking at Harry blankly. 

“Anyways, you suck. Dumbledore, while kind of mad and batty, rules.” 

Harry fought the urge to pop out his tongue and stick his thumbs next to his head and wave his fingers at Riddle. 

“Dumbledore was driven out of this school by the mere memory of me!”

“Er, no. It was actually Draco’s father and his evil ways that did that,” Harry offered. 

“No! It was the mere memory of me and the worthy work I carry on in the name of Salazar Slytherin!”

Anger welled up within Harry. “Slytherin was Muggleborn. Did you know that?”

Riddle curled his upper lip, closing the space between himself and Harry. He pressed the wand tip into Harry’s forehead.

“What are you talking about? Salazar Slytherin was a pureblood,” he hissed.

“Nope. Definately a Muggleborn. Walked around thinking he was the only wizard in the world. According to his personal journals,” Harry said, pressing his head into the wand. “Yeah, I did some investigating since I discovered this joint last year. I found a chamber you clearly didn’t, as it wasn’t stripped of valuables. Inside were journals, hand written by Salazar Slytherin himself. Oh, and they were written in Parseltounge, so only people Slytherin deemed worthy were able to read them. And I read them,” Harry announced, realizing he was getting close to monologuing. He added one last point. “And then I had one translated.” 

Riddle stared at him, his eyes turning a deep shade of ruby. Harry kept his green eyes locked on Riddle’s red ones, waiting for the older and taller boy to strike him down. Instead, he felt something warm caress his scar. It felt like a warm finger trailed down it, the warmth seeping into his mind. As the feeling grew a little warmer, he felt something shift and settle within him. 

“Thank you, child,” whispered a deep voice in Harry’s ear. “You’re worthy and speak the truth. Fix the damage this failure has caused.” 

The feeling of warmth left and Harry felt the wand pressing into his head harder than it was before. Riddle was still glowering down at him, twisting the wand into Harry’s forehead. Harry swallowed and let go one last volley. 

“And, Dumbledore’s not as gone as you think he is. Help will always come at Hogwarts to those who ask. I’m asking.”

Harry refrained from shouting HELP! 

Riddle opened his mouth, but no sound emerged. Instead, his eyes went large, the red color faded and the wand in his hand dropped. It clattered to the ground at Harry’s feet. Before Harry could move to pick it up, music reached his ears. Riddle whirled around and stared around the empty Chamber.

“No,” Riddle breathed, blanching. 

The music was growing louder. It was eerie, spine tingling, and unearthly sounding. The melody was not one Harry knew, but if Riddle’s reaction was anything to go by, he knew the melody. The music grew louder and louder till it reached a pitch where Harry thought he was going to vibrate apart. Just before Harry managed to vibrate apart, flames erupted in the center of the Chamber and a crimson bird appeared. 

Harry gawked as the bird, which was about the size of a swan, continued to sing it’s odd song and nose dived at Harry. Harry ducked as he felt something land on him. He stood up as the bird took off, landing again on top of a pillar. He picked up whatever the bird dropped, which had been soft at least. 

It was the Sorting Hat.

“Are you serious?” Harry asked. 

“No. I’m Sherlock. I’m not Sirius,” said a tinny voice from within the Hat.

“Did it just talk?” Riddle asked. 

Harry ignored Riddle, who sounded disturbed. Harry jammed the Hat onto his head. 

“Why are you here?” Harry asked the hat.

“I felt like dropping in. I figured I’d give you something. Seeing, as you failed to, how shall I put it, not befriend a deadly snake? Yes, a key thing you will need to defeat the bugger in front of you won’t happen now that the snake is your friend. Oh, and you so nicely asked for help without shouting for help. Classy. I’m going to give you something, take it to your snake and ask the snake nicely if you can have one of her fangs. I’ll let you figure out the fang yourself. And remember, I’m Sherlock, not Sirius.”

And before Harry could ask the Hat who claimed to be called Sherlock what in the name of sanity he was talking about, something really freaking hard fell on Harry’s head.

“Ouch!”

Harry pulled the hat off his head and a sword fell out, clattering at his feet. He swiftly picked it up before Riddle could touch it. Riddle paid Harry no heed, as he was staring at bird, who was still singing the eerie melody. Riddle appeared bewitched by the melody.  

Figuring having a melody bewitched Riddle was better than having a monologuing Riddle, Harry took off for Medusa. He jumped through the door near the base of the statue and wound his way back to her favored sleeping spot. 

**_“Wake up, Medusa. Please, I need you!”_ **

Harry felt the snake waking up. 

 _“_ ** _Ah, Master Harry. I thought it was the Heir_** _,”_ Medusa hissed back. **_“You smell different, Master Harry. You smell right now. You are Heir.”_**

**_“Er…I am?”_ **

**_“Master Salazar has blessed you, permanently gave you those gifts the Heir holds dear.”_ **

**_“Seriously? That was Salazar Slytherin who spoke in my ear and petted my scar?”_** Harry asked, trying to wrap his mind around what had happened. **“ _I’ll deal with that later. I need to ask you a huge favor. I wish to get rid of him, the…er, former heir. He’s not real, so I need your fang to, well, end him._** _”_

_“_ **_Yes, that would end him. My venom will destroy anything._ ** _”_

_“_ **_Oh? Really?_ ** _”_

_“_ ** _It is highly valuable,_** _”_ the snake offered. 

_“_ **_Oh. Do you mind?_ ** _”_

_“_ **_For you, Heir, I do not._ ** _”_

**_“Please, keep calling me Harry.”_ **

The snake opened her mouth as the song the bird’s singing got even louder. Harry stared at the fang and hissed an apology in advance if he hurt Medusa. He waved the sword and cut a fang off with a swift blow. Medusa assured Harry she was fine, but she’d like a treat of some more cow meat. (She liked cow best.)

Harry assured her he would get her some. 

 _“_ ** _Don’t touch the fang, Master Harry. Cover your hand,_** _”_ the snake advised.

Using the sleeve of his robe, he picked the fang up and hurried back to the main room. The song was louder now, the bird seemingly working up to the end. Harry ran over to Ginny, sliding across the stone floor. He grabbed the diary off the floor it had fallen as the bird stopped singing. Riddle shook his head and turned around, sneering.

“Phoenixes,” he snickered. He froze when he noticed Harry. “What are you doing? Where did you get that?”

“Bye, Marv. Don’t call again,” Harry said, stabbing the diary with the fang. 

It seemed like the thing to do. Riddle was the diary. The Hat who wanted to be called Sherlock told Harry to do something with the fang. So, Harry stabbed the diary with the fang. Ink squirted out at Harry, showering him in blank ink. Riddle gave off a long, dreadful, high pitched (almost girly sounding) scream. Ink was still pouring out of the diary as it sucked Riddle back into it. Riddle strained, flailed, but was unable to keep his form. 

He popped out of existence. 

The bird— who now Harry realized was Fawkes, Dumbledore’s phoenix—  flew down and landed near Ginny, cocking his feathered head from side to side. Ginny was still as stone.

“Is she okay?” Harry asked the bird. 

The bird made a noise Harry took as it didn’t know. It let a silver tear drop from its eye. The tear landed in Ginny’s partially open mouth. Within a few second a faint moan issued out of Ginny. She blinked a few times, looking confused. 

“Harry? What is going on? Where am I?” she asked, sitting up. “Why are you black?”

“What?”

“You’re stained black? Is that ink? Did you get hit with an ink bomb?” Ginny asked. “Did your bag explode again?” 

“Er, Ginny, do you remember anything from the past few months?”

“Well, bits and pieces. It was like walking in a waking dream,” she breathed. “Like I was someone else. I kept writing about things that I would never write about in my diary,” Ginny said, her voice becoming frantic. “At first I only wrote about, well, my daily life, but then I found myself wanting to tell it everything!”

Ginny began to hyperventilate. 

“Hey! It’s fine. I killed it,” Harry said, showing her the diary with the fang stuck in it. “Medusa helped out. Riddle’s gone.”

“Tom Riddle? He was here? But he’s a boy from the diary,” Ginny said. “Oh no! What did I do? I’m going to be expelled, aren’t I? I did something stupid. Did Atlanta ever come back? Tom seemed very concerned that she was missing. I think she came back, but it’s all fuzzy now. Oh, no! What will Mum and Dad say? Where am I? Oh, no. Did I send you that embarrassing poem I wrote? Or did I send it to Draco? Oh, no. Did Atlanta come back? I think she did. Where is she?”

“Er, let’s go. I bet your questions will be answered later,” Harry offered. “Wait, did you send Draco a Valentine?”

“I think I did. It wasn’t a singing one, was it?”

“No. I got that one.”

“Oh, I’m sorry! Oh my. What is going on? Why did I do that? It’s not like me! What did I send Draco?”

“Just a card. I don’t know. He never told me,” Harry admitted. He shook his head. “Can you walk?”

“I don’t know,” Ginny said. 

She got to her feet easily enough. Fawkes flew around, singing some sort of song and then erupted in flames again. Ginny began to ask questions about the bird and Harry decided to just tell her everything if it got her walking.

It did. 


	28. Comic Relief

**Disclaimer: Part come out of _Chamber of Secrets_ by JKR. Other parts came out of my head. I mashed them together to come up with what you’re about to read.**

* * *

“DRACO!”

Draco sprung up. It felt like it’d be hours since Harry had set off on his own to get Ginny. Sticking his head into the hole he and Lockhart had made, Draco saw a black being and Ginny walking towards him. Ginny’s face went whiter at the sight of Draco, her eyes huge. She then proceeded to turn bright red. 

“Harry?” Draco asked, looking at the black being. 

“Yeah, who else do you think it is?”

“Well, you are black.”

“I am not. Oh, wait, I am,” Harry said, staring a this stained self. “I keep forgetting I’m stained in ink. Again. Is my face all ink stained too?”

“You are dyed black from head to toe from what I can tell. Just a black mass with green eyes. Well, come through.”

“Where’s Lockhart?”

“Oh, he’s here. His memory is totally gone. No clue what, why, who, or how. He’s a danger to himself, really. And he has a strange obsession with home.”

“Home? Are we going home?” Lockhart asked, looking up cheerily. 

Draco moved aside and allowed Ginny and Harry to climb through. Lockhart looked at the two new additions in a bemused manner. In the light coming from the globes Draco had transfigured, Harry was clearly covered in ink and wasn’t solid black like he’d appeared on the other side of the rocks. 

“Blimey, you are covered in ink,” Lockhart announced. He peered good naturally at Harry. “Unless you’re naturally that color.”

“No. I’m not. I had a run in with a diary,” Harry offered, showing Draco the diary. 

Draco took the diary, which was dripping ink still and had a huge fang sunk into the dead center. 

“So ends the tale of T.M. Riddle,” Draco muttered. “What else do you have?”

“A sword and the Sorting Hat named Sherlock.”

“Do I want to know?”

“Dumbledore’s phoenix.”

“Brought you the Sorting Hat or the Sword?”

“Sherlock,” Harry corrected.

“And the sword?”

“Came from Sherlock.”

“And the fang? That come out of, er, Sherlock?”

“No, I cut that out of Medusa’s mouth.” 

“Do you two always talk like this?” Ginny asked, looking between the pair. 

“The blond fellow does,” Lockhart offered. “He lives here.”

“I do not live here!” 

“He does,” Lockhart whispered loudly. “We made him a window.”

Ginny began to giggle uncontrollably, doubling over. She laughed for so long, Lockhart started laughing. Harry began laughing till Draco threw up his hands and stalked off, still carrying the dripping diary. Soon, the laugher behind him died down and he was joined at the base of the slide by the other three, Ginny holding onto Lockhart’s arm to guide him. 

“It turned back into a slide,” Draco pointed out. “Wasn’t it stairs when Lockhart fell down them?”

Harry hissed and the stairs appeared. Lockhart clapped his hands together and cried, “It’s like magic! Amazing!”

“You first,” Draco said, indicating Lockhart ought to start up. 

“It’s your house,” Lockhart replied. “I have to say, this looks much nicer than that other room.”

They climbed the stairs in silence, appearing in Moaning Myrtle’s toilet. She was bobbing up and down near the entrance looking at them in disappointment. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you were going down there? I would have come!”

Lockhart fixed his hat. “You’re see through!”

Myrtle made a huffing noise and stormed off through the wall. 

“I say, Blond Man, why don’t you live up here. So much cheerier,” Lockhart offered.

Ginny started giggling again as Draco put his hands up in defeat. 

* * *

Professor Dumbledore was beaming at them. Seriously, the guy could have guided boats on a foggy night. Draco shifted uncomfortably as Mrs. Weasley smothered her daughter. McGonagall was still clutching her chest looking as if she was going to pass out any moment. Lockhart was humming tunelessly off to the left, forgotten by everyone. 

Harry stopped talking suddenly. He leaned back in the chair he’d been sitting in and looked like he’d just run a marathon. 

“You didn’t kill the snake?” McGonagall asked, looking more shocked.

“No. She didn’t do anything wrong,” Harry insisted. “I talked to her. She obeys me now. She just wants some cow meat as a treat for letting me cut a fang out of her mouth.” 

“So, you discovered the Chamber of Secrets last year?” Dumbledore asked.

All three Weasleys gasped. 

“Er, yes.”

“You’ve broken hundred of school rules!” McGonagall suddenly shouted. “How on earth did you get out of there alive?”

“Well, Medusa wasn’t about to listen to Riddle, but Fawkes showed up, remember?”

“Ah, yes,” Dumbledore said, glancing up at the bird, which was perched on his shoulder. “Fawkes brought you the Sorting Hat.”

“Sherlock. His name is Sherlock. He dropped a sword on my head and told me to go talk to my snake,” Harry said. “I did, stabbed the diary. End of story.” 

Mrs. Weasley began to fuss over Harry.  She smothered him in a hug. While she was attempting to kill Harry with love, Dumbledore held out his hand to Draco. Draco handed him the ink soaked diary. He saw a shadow pass over his face as he studied the ruined book. 

“He was a very brilliant student,” Dumbledore began rather quietly. Mrs. Weasley stopped smothering Harry suddenly. “Most brilliant student Hogwarts has ever seen.”

Dumbledore paused. 

“Very few people know that Lord Voldemort was once called Tom Riddle.”

Mrs. Weasley gasped. As did Professor McGonagall. Lockhart continued to hum tunelessly. 

“I taught him myself. Nearly fifty years ago. He disappeared after leaving school. People said it was to search for his sister, who mysteriously vanished in his sixth year. But, we all know where she went and who she really was.”

The Weasleys all appeared confused, but didn’t question Dumbledore. Harry and Draco looked at one another. 

“He traveled far and wide and sank very deep into the Dark Arts, consorted with the very worst of our kind, underwent so many dangerous, magical transformations, that when he resurfaced as Lord Voldemort, no one knew he was ever Tom Riddle. No one connected him with the clever, handsome boy who was once Head Boy.” 

Dumbledore stared at the diary, looking even sadder now than before. He set it on the desk. 

“So, don’t feel bad, Miss Weasley. Wizards and witches who are older and wiser than you have been tricked by Tom Riddle.” 

“Oh, Ginny,” Mr. Weasley sighed. “Never trust anything that can think for itself if you can’t see where it keeps its brain.”

“I know! I didn’t think it was dangerous. It didn’t feel that way! I found it right after Atlanta went missing! Under the couch!”

“Oh,” Dumbledore breathed. He had an “ah ha” expression on his face. 

“What?” McGonagall inquired. 

“I believe Tom Riddle, knowing how Atlanta Black arrived in 1943 charmed this book in order for her to arrive,” Dumbledore offered. “I imagine she must have fallen down the stairs and broken her nose.”

Draco and Harry exchanged looks. Everyone else looked at Dumbledore, waiting for him to finish explaining how breaking her nose would lead to her traveling through time, but Dumbledore set the book down and looked at the Wealseys, his eyes falling on Ginny. 

“Molly, I believe your daughter should go to the Hospital Wing. She has been through a traumatic ordeal and might need some dreamless sleep.”

The Weasleys did not argue with Dumbledore. McGonagall hurried out with them after being instructed to inform the kitchen there was to be a feast, as the Petrified victims were waking up soon. After he shut the door, he pulled his wand out and waved it over the ink stained and leaking diary. 

“Ah, yes. Powerful. I wonder how he had a sample of her untainted blood,” Dumbledore mumbled. 

“Then, that’s how he did it?” Harry asked. Dumbledore glanced up, looking impressed Harry had figured this aspect of the diary out. 

“Blood is a powerful thing and something Tom Riddle was fascinated with. When I first met Calliope Riddle, she had just broken her nose from a fall down the stairs. She was covered in dried blood. I’m guessing here, but I believe she fell down the stairs coming down from the dormitories. She clearly was holding the diary, it opened up and she smashed her nose into it. Once her blood met the pages, it pulled her through time.”

“Blood Magicks,” Draco murmured, things slotting into place in his mind. How she appeared to look so different, how she acted so strange…there was something more than just messing with her mind. “It’s very Dark.”

“Indeed, Mr. Malfoy.” 

“What do you mean by untainted? You asked how he got some of her untainted blood,” Harry asked. “Did he—”

Harry stopped talking, his mouth hanging open. His eyes went wide. 

“Oh! He kept saying ‘we.’ He claimed to have Muggle, Salazar Slytherin’s and Black blood in his veins. His father was Muggle, his mother was related to Slytherin and Calliope, er, Atlanta was the Black blood, wasn’t it?”

Dumbledore once again looked sad and old. “Correct, Harry.” 

“So…is that how he made Calliope Riddle? He mixed their blood? How does that work?” Harry asked. 

“I’m not sure what he did to her, but I suspected after a large shift in her mannerism and personality, he’d done something to harness what he saw as her greatest power,” Dumbledore said. “Tom enjoyed power and the powerful, but he had a low tolerance for people. As you both know, Atlanta was independent. And somewhat…shall I say annoying?” 

Dumbledore cleared his throat. 

“Well, onto other matters. I seem to remember telling you both that I would have to expel you if you decided to break school rules after last year.”

Harry opened his mouth in horror.

“But, that goes to show, even the best of us must eat our words,” Dumbledore went on, smiling. “You shall both receive Special Award for Services to the School. Oh, and two hundred points to Gryffindor.” 

Harry snapped his mouth shut.

“Thank you, sir,” Draco said. 

“But, one of us seems to be keeping oddly quiet about his part in this dangerous adventure,” Dumbledore said.

Silence met this statement. Draco turned around to find Lockhart in the corner of the room. Facing said corner.

“Why so modest, Gilderoy?”

Harry turned around to peer at Lockhart. Draco cleared his throat loudly. Lockhart gave a start and turned around. He wore a vague smile. Dumbledore addressed him again. Lockhart looked over his shoulder on both sides trying to figure who Dumbledore was speaking to. 

“Professor Dumbledore?” Harry asked. “I left out something in my tale.”

“Oh, yeah. He tried to do a Memory Charm on us and it backfired because his wand broke when he fell down the stairs,” Draco added. “So, he’s, well, he has no clue who is he.”

“Dear me,” Dumbledore said, chuckling. “Impaled upon your own sword, Gilderoy?”

Lockhart blinked dimly. “Sword? I don’t have a sword. That black stained boy has one. He’ll lend you it. He has a nicer house than Blondie.”

Dumbledore looked at Draco and continued to chuckle. 

“Would you mind taking Professor Lockhart to the infirmary, Mr. Malfoy?”

“Yes, sir.” Draco stood up and turned to Lockhart. “Follow me, Professor. I’m sure you’ll really like the infirmary.”

“I’m a professor?” Lockhart asked, following Draco without question. “I suppose I am hopeless. Why don’t you live up here? It’s so much warmer and lighter. And less dirt.”

The door slammed behind them. Draco and Lockhart walked down toward the Hospital Wing, Lockhart babbling the entire way about how much nicer it was up here. 

Lockhart did enjoy the infirmary. It was so white and clean. 


	29. Wrapping It Up

**Disclaimer: Parts taken from _Chamber of Secrets_ by JKR. If you know it, I do not own it.**

* * *

Draco left the Hospital Wing after assuring Madam Pomfrey that while he was dirty, he was perfectly healthy. It had taken some time, but she had relented when Lockhart had managed to get into a cabinet and drank something that caused him to turn purple. 

Lockhart was fascinated that he complimented his robes. He wanted to remain purple so he kept running away from Madam Pomfrey as she attempted to chase him around the infirmary. 

Draco chuckled to himself, while feeling a little bit guilty he was laughing at a man who had lost his memory and had reverted to a child mentality. 

Hmmm…that’s what was what happened to Quirrell.

Draco looked up when he heard commotion coming from the marble staircase. Stopping, Draco noticed his father storming down the stairs looking livid, while Dobby was squealing in pain as Lucius kicked him down the stairs. Dobby bounced down the stairs, landing in a heap on the last landing before the last flight of stairs. While Draco had witnessed his father treat Dobby like this before, it felt distasteful to do it in such a public place. Draco shifted uneasily till he noticed Harry running, a fierce look set on his face. 

“Mr. Malfoy!” Harry yelled, reaching the top of the stairs above Lucius. “I’ve got something for you!”

Lucius stopped in his tracks, slowly turning around to face Harry. Draco sunk into the growing shadows in the Entrance Hall, hiding himself from view. 

“What?” Lucius snapped, glaring down at Harry.

Harry put the big innocent eyes on, holding out the diary (fang free). Lucius blankly looked at the inky diary (it was still dripping ink) and sneered.

“And I want that because?”

“Oh, because it belongs to you, Mr. Malfoy. Didn’t someone give it to you?”

Harry shoved it into Lucius’ hands and took a step back. Lucius made a face of disgust, ripping off a dirty sock from the diary. He threw it behind him, completely missing the fact Dobby had scampered up to stand near his master at the top of the stairs. Draco watched as Dobby hopped up and caught the black sock.

“You’ll meet the same sticky end as your parents one of these days, Harry Potter,” Lucius spat at Harry. “They were meddlesome fools, too. And I will not allow you to take my son with you.”

Harry was still wearing his big, innocent eyes. He blinked in an over exaggerated manner.

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about Draco, sir,” Harry said. “He can think for himself rather well for a kid.”

Lucius made a noise that Draco couldn’t place. 

“You have corrupted him.”

“How could I do that, sir?”

“Mark my word, the day will come when you regret the fact you put my son’s life in danger,” Lucius sneered.

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me, but I don’t plan to hand him over to Marv at any point. The only person who endangers his life is you by aligning yourself with Marv.”

Who the hell was Marv? Draco wondered. Judging by his father’s face, Lucius was wondering the same thing. 

“Come, Dobby. We’re leaving,” Lucius said instead of answering Harry. 

Dobby did not move to follow Lucius down the stairs. 

“I said come,” Lucius ordered. 

Dobby looked triumphant. He held the disgusting, slimy sock to his equally gross pillow case outfit, looking like he’d hit the jackpot.

“Master has given Dobby a sock,” the elf announced happily. “Master gave it to Dobby.”

“Excuse me? What did you say?” Lucius asked, rounding on the Elf. 

“Got a sock,” Dobby said happily, a bit of disbelief in his voice. “Master threw it, Dobby caught it. Dobby is free.”

Draco’s father was frozen, staring at the Elf in disbelief. Draco moved forward, figuring his father was going to be upset with Harry. Sure enough, Lucius launched himself at Harry. However, before Draco could open his mouth to distract his father, Dobby shouted, “You shall not harm Harry Potter!”

Lucius went flying backwards with a loud banging noise. He crashed down the stairs, landing in a crumpled heap at Draco’s feet. Not bothering to notice his son, Lucius leapt to his feet, his face red with anger and pulled his wand out of his cane. He pointed it at Harry, but Dobby raised a ringer and wagged it, narrowing his tennis ball sized eyes. 

“You shall go now,” Dobby ordered. “You shall not touch Harry Potter. Or Little Master.”

Lucius jolted, suddenly realizing Draco was standing at his side, glaring up at him. Draco put on a familiar sneer, taking his father in. Without a word, Draco swept passed his father and climbed the stairs to join Harry. He turned back and faced his father. Dobby moved and stood in front of both boys. 

“You will regret this, Draco,” Lucius spat, turning on his heel and stalked out. The front doors banged open. 

“You okay?” Harry asked quietly after a long drawn out moment. 

“Yup,” Draco said. He looked down at Dobby, who was admiring his dirty sock. “So, Dobby, what’s the plan now that you’re free?”

“Dobby’s free,” Dobby breathed. 

It was clearly taking some time for the news to sink in. 

“Harry Potter freed Dobby!” 

Dobby gazed up at Harry in wonderment. Harry shifted, suddenly looking a bit uncomfortable. 

“Least I could do,” Harry said quietly. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Just promise never to attempt to save my life again, yeah?”

Dobby grinned, a wide toothy sort of grin. He nodded his head. 

“Thanks for the clues,” Harry offered. 

“You is most welcome, Harry Potter!”

“Well, there’s a feast and Draco and I need to get cleaned up,” Harry offered, looking somewhat more awkward than he had a moment ago. “Hermione should be awake.”

Dobby threw his arms around Harry’s middle and hugged tightly. 

“Harry Potter is greater by far than Dobby expected! Farewell, Harry Potter!” 

Dobby let go of Harry and turned to Draco. He didn’t look like he was about to hug Draco, but he beamed at him. 

“Little Master will be all right,” Dobby proclaimed.

Draco gave him a weak smile and with a final loud crack, Dobby vanished. 

“So, there’s a feast?” Draco asked, even though he knew it already.

Harry nodded. “Let’s go to the tower. Is Hermione up yet?”

“No. Madam Pomfrey administered the Mandrake Potion while we were gone. They should be up at any moment. I didn’t wait around, though. Lockhart was getting annoying and needed attention constantly,” Draco replied. 

They were quiet the rest of the trip to the tower. Neither boy spoke till they were in the dormitory, which was empty. The boys both took turns in the bathroom and changed into fresh clothes. Harry was waiting when Draco came out of the toilet, running a towel through his hair. 

“So, what did Dumbledore tell you after I left?” 

“Not much. I told him what Sherlock told me at the Sorting and he told me to look at the sword. It was Godric Gryffindor’s,” Harry explained. “That was what the Hat, I’m sorry, Sherlock dropped on my head.”

“Who is Marv?”

“Oh! Voldemort’s middle name is Marvolo. His name is an anagram. Tom Marvolo Riddle, I am Lord Voldemort.”

“Oh, well, that is clever,” Draco said sarcastically, hanging up his towel. “So, you’re a true Gryffindor, then?”

Draco had an inkling Harry had always been a bit worried about that. Getting the sword should be confirmation he was indeed in the right house.

“Kinda. I didn’t tell Dumbledore, but I am officially the Heir of Slytherin now.”

“Huh?”

Harry scratched his head, looking somewhat uncomfortable. “Yeah, after I told Diary Marv about the whole Muggleborn thing with Slytherin, something strange happened. I felt like someone ran a finger down my scar and heard a voice telling me to right Marv’s wrongs. Oh, and the final thing that hinted to me that I was the new Heir, Medusa told me I smelled right now and I was in fact now Heir of Slytherin. Yay me!”

He said the last bit without effort. 

Draco sat down heavily on his bed. “Seriously, Harry? How does that even work?”

“No clue. Medusa said something about giving me gifts that meant something to Marv.”

Harry shrugged. Draco shook his head in wonderment. 

“Then your father showed up, Dumbledore hinted heavily it was him who left the diary, told him not to let any more of Voldemort’s old school things to fall into innocent hands, your father bristled and then he left, dragging Dobby off. Since I know it was your dad who gave Ginny the diary, I thought he should have it back.”

“Along with a dirty sock?”

“Of course.”

Draco snickered.

“You’re not mad?”

“Why would I be mad?” Draco asked, standing up. “Dobby is a really horrible House Elf. I think he will be happier free. We’ve got other Elves for Father to terrorize.”

Harry frowned. 

“They will be mine someday and I won’t terrorize them,” Draco offered. “I don’t terrorize them, nor does Mother.”

“Of course she doesn’t,” Harry said quickly. He glanced out the window a moment before looking back at Draco. “Will you be all right? I mean, things with your father were kind of tense before…and now…”

“It’ll be fine, Harry. We both know Voldemort isn’t gone for good and where my father stands,” Draco said. “I’m glad I’ve made it clear to him where I stand. And thanks for what you said.”

Harry looked a bit uncomfortable, but nodded stiffly. 

“You said something about a feast?” Draco reminded Harry.

“Oh, yeah. I assume that is where everyone is located currently.”

Draco indicated they ought to head down to the feast. 

* * *

The last time Draco had attended this feast, he wasn’t a happy camper. The Heir had been caught and the drama was over. No one had died, and to his twelve-year-old self that was tragic. 

This time, he was thrilled. For one, it seemed like Harry had gotten off easy this year. Due to the fact he had befriended the snake, he didn’t have to fight it. (Draco assumed Potter more than likely fought and killed the snake the first time around.) He only had to face something Harry kept calling Diary Marv, who sounded almost as comical as Lockhart. 

Hermione and the other formerly Petrified students all made a grand entrance shortly after Draco and Harry arrived. Upon their arrival, McGongall announced Dumbledore’s return and the fact exams were cancelled.

“Oh, no!” Hermione exclaimed, looking tragic. 

Dumbledore announced Lockhart wouldn’t be returning.

“Oh, no!” several girls gasped. 

“Shame,” Draco muttered in Harry’s ear. “He was kind of growing on me.” 

Harry snickered. 

* * *

The remainder of term passed in a haze of sunshine and warmth. With no exams, there was no need to spend hours indoors studying. Well, unless you were Hermione and were attempting to catch up on a lot of missed work. Hermione spent hours in the library studying. She was shocked (to the point she nearly fainted) when Harry showed her the translated copy of Salazar Slytherin’s journal and found out the man had been a Muggleborn. Nott spent a few days mocking Draco when news got out that Lucius had been sacked as a school governor for blackmailing the other governors to sack Dumbledore. 

Draco didn’t really care. 

The best thing, though, Ginny Weasley had reverted to normal. She was the happy, smiling, sociable girl Draco faintly remembered from the first time around. Everyone wanted to hear her tale and she was too happy to tell it and warn others not to write in strange books. 

That was why Draco was unable to ask her about the secret room on the second floor until the train trip back to London. Hermione, Neville, Ginny, Luna, Harry and Draco were all in a compartment. The boys and Ginny were all playing Exploding Snap, while Luna read a magazine upside down and Hermione read some huge, scary looking book. 

“Ginny, what did you see Percy doing that he didn’t want you to tell anyone about?” Draco asked casually.

Ginny started giggling. “Oh! Right! I ran into you after I saw them. It’s nothing really. Percy’s got a boyfriend.”

Hermione choked. Harry looked bewildered. Draco cocked his head to the side and allowed his jaw to drop. 

“Yeah, it was kind of scaring, actually,” Ginny went on. 

“Who?” Harry asked. “Please. Please don’t tell me it’s Oliver Wood.”

Ginny stared at her playing cards. “Okay. I won’t then.”

Harry looked like he was going to pass out. 

“You know, I don’t know how you missed that,” Neville commented, slapping a card down. “They are almost always together. Oliver always tells Percy things before he talks to anyone else and while Percy usually has no idea what Oliver is talking about, Percy is the ONLY one of you lot who listens to all his Quidditch talk.”

Draco stared at Neville. “You’re right.”

Things fell into place. 

“So, how did you wind up in that room, then?” Harry asked. 

“That, I cannot tell you,” Ginny offered, putting down a few cards. “It was one of the fuzzy times. I was fuzzy till I was suddenly faced with…well, my brother sucking off Oliver Wood’s face.”

“It’s always the good looking ones, isn’t it?” Luna faintly asked.

They all stared at her for a moment. She said nothing further. Hermione made a strangled noise and hid behind her oversized book. 

“Is, er, are those sort of relationships normal in the wizarding world?” Harry asked, looking somewhat uncomfortable. “I don’t have an issue, but…”

“Yes,” Draco replied. “It’s perfectly normal. Why?”

“Well, it’s not…well, some people…”

“It’s still somewhat frowned upon in the Muggle world,” Hermione said from behind her book. 

“Small minds,” Luna offered, putting her magazine in her lap. “Love is love. It sees no gender, color or reason.”

“Here, here,” Ginny announced, slapping down a few more cards. There was a tiny explosion. “Oops.”

“So, why haven’t Oliver and Percy told anyone?” Harry asked, looking bewildered. 

Ginny snickered. “Because Percy is worried what Oliver’s fans will do to him.”

“Oliver’s fans?” the three boys asked, exchanging looks. 

“Oh, honestly,” Hermione said, slamming her book shut with a thump. “Oliver is…very good looking. And he’s fit. A Quidditch player, most likely to go pro. He’s a lovely catch. He has lots of female fans. Quite a few.”

Hermione’s cheeks were pink.

“And he’s got a lovely Scottish accent,” Luna offered. “Very thick. And he wears a sweater well.”

Luna gave off a dreamy smile and stared above Harry’s head, her eyes going around in circles. 

Harry cleared his throat. “Brilliant. So, we done discussing romantic relationships?”

“Sure,” Neville replied. “What are your plans this summer?”

Harry frowned. 

“Well, I am going to go home and hopefully survive long enough to return,” Draco replied. “Harry, are you sure I can’t just go home with you?”

Harry snorted. “Yeah. It’s hard enough with one wizard in the house. I don’t think the Dursleys could handle me plus you for a whole two months. Though, it’d be nice to have someone else to talk to. Or anyone at all.”

Ginny looked confused. “What does that mean?”

“Yeah, Harry. Won’t your family be proud when they hear what you did this year?” Neville asked. 

“Proud?” Harry asked, eyebrows flying upwards. “Are you crazy? All those times I could’ve died and failed? They’ll be furious.”

Ginny and Neville looked rather alarmed, while Draco, Hermione and Harry all laughed. 

* * *

“So, the whole time traveller thing didn’t come up?” Hermione asked as they were waiting to enter the Muggle world through the gateway on the platform. 

Narcissa was fussing over Harry, so Draco and Hermione were free to speak to one another.

“Nope. There wasn’t much of an opening to have him guess or for me to randomly announce it,” Draco admitted. 

Hermione sighed. “Next year might be easier on him if he knew that you know…”

“I know. But he didn’t ask and if I just tell him, he won’t believe me.”

They neared the wall to exit and were soon through. Hermione quickly found her parents. Draco tried not to look too shocked when his mother proceeded to smile and act super nice and genuinely friendly with Mr. and Mrs. Granger. 

“Please, break me out after two weeks,” Harry begged. “I know your dad hates me, but please, do not leave me there all summer.”

“I won’t. Do you see your uncle?”

Harry nodded. 

“I’ll talk with Mother. She is very fond of you.”

Harry rolled his eyes. 

“Two weeks. That’s the odd time limit Dumbledore told her last year,” Harry reminded Draco. 

Draco nodded. Harry had explained the reason for the odd limit, it having to do with the blood protection Lily Potter had left on her son. 

“Two weeks,” Draco promised.

He held out his hand. Harry grasped it, shook it, then turned back to his cart, wheeling it over to the whale of a man waiting for him with a frown. Draco felt a hand on his shoulder and saw his mother.

“You must really stop growing, dear,” she said quietly. 

“I’ll try.”

“Hermione is lovely,” Narcissa commented casually. “Her parents are very intelligent and welcoming.”

“Oh? Really?”

Narcissa nodded. “Your father is away. In France. All summer. He is rather…upset about loosing Dobby. I suggested he go to France.”

Draco felt there was a bigger reason Narcissa had sentenced his father to France, but didn’t ask. If he were honest, he did not care. He felt like a weight was lifted now that he didn’t have to face his father all summer. 

“Home?”

Draco nodded, feeling a hand tighten on his shoulder. With a soft pop, Narcissa and Draco were gone. 

* * *

_A/N: And so ends book two. Book three, Fractured Moonlight will begin posting sometime next week._

_Thank you for all the reviews, subscriptions, and kudos! I absolutely love reading the reviews and reactions to the stories, so keep them coming!_


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